Life on Mars
by Timeless A-Peel
Summary: Seventh in a series. Larry Doomer is dead. The triumvirate is falling apart. And Purdey's world has been turned upside down. Now she must fight to recapture her life as she knows it. But has she really lost her way? Or is she simply mad? Complete.
1. All Coming Back

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yes, a new fic! Although there are three of you hanging about who have already read this (you know who you are), I'm conducting some fairly major rewrites in places, so there's new stuff to be found even if you know where it goes in the end.

Now, a little background. I wrote this fic from late 2006 until summer 2007, so it's a bit old, older than several of the other stories in the arc. I'd long wanted to do a story along these lines, and around that very same time I discovered a certain television series by the name of _Life on Mars_. A lot of you will have probably seen it (the British original, hopefully, and not the US remake of which I have nothing nice to say, and won't say anything at all). I'll be straight with you--I love the show. After the Avengers, it's my all-time favourite series, and the adventures of Sam Tyler inspired me to try a few ideas of my own. If you haven't seen the series, I urge you to rectify that--a region one DVD release is imminent. You won't regret it.

But to be clear, this is _not_ a crossover. It's set in the TNA universe, it ties in which the series timeline and my arc, and there will not be any cameo appearances by Sam, Gene, Chris, Ray, Annie, or anyone from _Ashes to Ashes_, either. You don't have to know anything about _Life on Mars_ to understand the fic. If you _have _seen it, you'll encounter one or two similarities, but mainly it just gave me a kick to do something I'd wanted to for years but never been able to do right.

Like so many TNA fics, this one deals with the aftermath of the episode "Obsession." The appeal is obvious--like "The Forget-Me-Not," it's an unusual emotional departure for the series, full of angst and glimpses into Purdey's past, winding up with the incredibly tragic death of Larry Doomer, Purdey's ex-fiance, at the hands of Gambit, who takes Purdey's reaction hard. There's so much going on with the Purdey/Gambit relationship here, it's impossible for a writer not to want to explore it, and if you do a quick browse through my favourites you'll see several excellent examples. This is my addition to the list, but I've played around with the concept and done a few things with it. You'll see what I mean soon enough.

Like "Brazil," I'll be editing as I go, but much more heavily, and that may mean delayed chapters at times. Hopefully it'll be worth it.

Anyway, first chapter a bit short, but I wanted to get a start. Enjoy!

* * *

"It's like everyone's moved to Mars." From _The New Avengers _episode, "Sleeper"

Purdey walked. Walked away from Gambit. Away from Steed. Away from the body, and the smoking remains of the Rover. Just away. She didn't want face them, face anyone. She was so confused, so angry. All these years she'd been trying to forget Larry, to move on. And now he'd walked back into her life, and upset everything in an instant, thrown her life into disarray just as he had all those years ago. Couldn't the past leave her alone, once and for all? She had a new life now. It worked. She had people who cared about her, a job that she loved, a beautiful flat, and a loving extended family. Everything had been just as she wanted it. It wasn't a conventional life, true. Not the one she'd imagined all those years ago. But it was hers, and it worked, and for the first time in over a decade, she had been content.

But that was all gone, now, her sense of well-being steadily chipped away ever since Steed had shown her the picture of the emir, and finally blown to pieces with the Range Rover and the collapse of Larry's lifeless body. Now all the old wounds were bleeding, and she'd been cut a few new ones. And this time there was collateral damage. This time Gambit was paying for it. Oh, Steed had been there. Was still there—in fact, he knew more about what was going on than Mike did, which somehow made it worse. Hell, how could she look him in the eye now? She'd screamed, and squirmed, and he'd tried his best to help, to console, to understand what she was feeling, to make her understand why he'd made the choice he had. She could still see his face when she closed her eyes, the way he'd looked when she left him, somewhere back in all the sound and fury. She should have told him she understood, but she hadn't been able to, literally incapable of putting thoughts to words, or even making sense of her thoughts. Hysterical, and irrational, and hurt, and frightened, and angry, and, and…She couldn't even think of any more emotions to pile on. All of that, all the death, and her life falling down around her, overwhelming every sense, every cell, every fibre of her being, drowning her. All on the site of the dream house. How ironic. How bloody appropriate. She'd been here, with Larry, a million years ago, not long before he had bestowed that life-changing slap, the one that had driven Purdey Bryde to never, ever play victim again. It didn't matter, though, did it? She was still hurting, just as much as she had then, and to make matters worse, Gambit was the latest victim, even if only by proxy. Larry had pulled him into the whole mess as surely she had her. Even unintentionally, Larry had made a real mess of things in ways he never could have imagined.

She was running out of field to walk, but she was also running out of energy, and that compensated for it. She felt so tired, now that everything was so far behind her, if only by physical distance. So drained, so numb. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her chest ached from the sobs wracking her body. She just wanted to stop, collapse, and let sleep take her, let exhaustion whisk her away to a place where there were no nightmares, no tears, no old lovers or hurt friends, just eternal, peaceful void. _Come get me, Mike_, she mentally pleaded, barely aware she'd thought it for a moment. All she knew was that she was tired, and Gambit's arms had felt so nice and strong and safe a moment earlier that she thought they might be able to carry her when her knees finally gave way. And she wasn't adverse to having the owner around, either.

_What are you waiting for?_ Well, she knew the answer to that one, didn't she? After he little screaming tirade, he probably thought she wanted space. Which she did, to be honest, but she also wanted someone to take the initiative for a change, because she certainly wasn't feeling up to it. And somehow, when she finally felt like talking, not collapsing, she thought it would be easier to pour her heart out to Gambit, even if she'd deflected his gentle prodding earlier. Steed had been her support system thus far, but she hadn't really told him about Larry so much as he'd deduced the man's significance in her life, and she wasn't sure she could unload her muddled thought processes on him. Gambit, at least, was a peer, and he'd had enough experience with her eccentric conversation patterns. And besides, he'd drawn his own conclusions at the party, so it wasn't as if he was completely ignorant of her connection to Larry. It hadn't felt right, anyway, going over Mike's head with vague references to Berlin and scaling metaphorical walls. It would be better to fill in the information gap, would make things easier for all of them if they were all on the same page.

It would have been even easier if Gambit had been involved from the start, she realized belatedly, as she continued to trudge along. Maybe he would have been enough to deter Larry when she saw him at the airbase. Steed hadn't driven him away, but there was something about Gambit that made other men a little leery about approaching her if they weren't one of the Ministry's mob, and therefore well-aware that Gambit was only her colleague. Purdey was more than capable of fighting off unwanted advances, but on the odd occasion she wasn't in the mood, dragging Gambit along was the easy way out. Most people jumped to conclusions, anyway, particularly if they engaged in a little harmless bickering, at which point everyone started looking for wedding rings.

If Gambit had tagged along, she might not have felt so vulnerable, might not have started unraveling as she summoned up the courage to look Larry in the eye for the first time in…what? Seven years? Seven long years since he'd struck her. Seven years since she had fled across that field, choking back sobs as she made her way blindly for her car, driving non-stop from the scene of the crime to her uncle's. Colonel Elroyd Foster had called her mother, and the next day Purdey had stayed home with her step-father while Elroyd and her mother made the trip to the flat she shared with Larry with the sole purpose of picking up a few of her things, the beginnings of her inevitable move, her new life. Plans were called off, wedding arrangements cancelled. People were sent off with a cover explanation—something about Larry wanting to travel too much, about Purdey being unable to help him reach his goals. Little did they know…

Larry tried to make contact on numerous occasions after that, but her mother always intercepted him and politely turned him away with ice in her voice and steely eyes. But Acacia could do only so much to protect her daughter, and Purdey feared the day he finally dared to show his face at the Royal Ballet.

In the end, she didn't fear for long. The first few weeks after "the incident" as it came to be known, he seemed to know better than to show his face. Shortly after, the call came, quickly followed by the meeting in the head office, with the instructor, and the trainers, and the financiers. She'd been on the edge of dancer specifications for some time, but in recent months she'd experienced a devastating growth spurt—only half an inch, but at her height much too much. 5'8", and it was too difficult for any male lead to give her a lift. Furthermore, her legs weren't always content to toe the line—she'd given her fellow dancers more than a few bruises when a pirouette went wrong. Someone had muttered something about her long legs being "deadly weapons." Purdey took that would-be insult to heart when she joined the Ministry, a place where her high kick wasn't considered a liability. Coupled with her recent personal crisis, her performance had suffered terribly, and she knew it.

But it hurt. It still hurt, even today, to be exiled from what one loved, to pack up the leotards and take her leave with as much dignity as possible, as other girls looked on with sneers or pity.

Next had been the damned _Times_ columnist who had seen fit to resurrect the story of her father's untimely death. There'd been renewed attention in her surname after that. It was the last straw, and pushed her to make her decision. To leave. To disappear. And when Larry's inquiries became too much, her father's friends had seen to it that Purdey Bryde disappeared without a trace. So she'd packed her bags, desperate to get away and try to sort out her life. A refuge, an escape, a chance to learn and broaden, to hone the languages she'd always had a natural affinity for, see the great sights, to think. All alone.

Deep down, she'd known that last part was a mistake. She could have used a companion to lean on, someone to listen to all her hopes and fears while she tried to put her life back together.

She'd needed a Gambit, just as she did now. Just as she had the moment she'd heard Larry call her name on that airfield, a million years ago--yesterday. Gambit would have known how to handle it, she knew. He wouldn't have pushed her to try and make amends, as Steed had done. If he'd come.

But Gambit had declined, she remembered. That morning she caught up to him in the Ministry corridors, and he told her jauntily that he was running something on his own, and that surely she and Steed didn't need his help to sort out something as mundane as a fire:

"_It won't take too long, will it?" she asked. " I mean, Steed's party is coming up."_

_Gambit shook his head. "Just one or two things that need clearing up," he told her cryptically, but there was something else behind the words, and the blue eyes had taken on the greenish tinge that stirred something deep inside her. "Which means I had better be getting along," he added, leaving her in the empty halls as he backed into the door, easing it open even as he raised the hand and closed it. "Ciao."_

She mirrored him almost automatically. But now that she thought about it, there had been something distinctly wrong about the whole scenario. Gambit had been much too cheerful, laying on the cocky grins and rattling off the mission particulars in a way that had brought her antenna up. He was definitely leaving something out. She had pondered the problem all the way to the base, only half-listening to Wolach and Steed, and it had settled uneasily next to reawakened thoughts about Larry and the emir, and the vague realisation that last time she had seen Mike before the hallway encounter, she had been shrugging off his friendly arm as she turned down the 'plum job,' and walked away even as he called after her. And then there was Larry, and in all the excitement, she'd forgotten about Gambit, who had reappeared without anything near the doppelganger scenario rearing its head.

_Doppelganger!_ That was it, Purdey realised, what had felt so wrong about the exchange, brought on the surge of déjà vu. Because last time Gambit acted that way, he had a suitcase with him, but the circumstances were the same. Gambit may not have been lying through his teeth to her, as he had the day he left to become Terry Walton, but it still felt wrong, the way Gambit's ignorance about Larry felt wrong. Because the last batch of secrets, the ones Gambit and Steed had kept from her, justified as they may have been, had found her sure that she was alone again, and weeping over visions of her colleague's corpse. She felt puzzlement squeeze itself in beside the other emotions clamouring for her attention. She would have to ask Gambit about his odd behaviour, but it could wait. Now she only wanted him here, now, the way she had needed someone all those years ago.

Gambit wouldn't push, though. Of that much she could be certain. At least, do what he _thought_ of as pushing. She knew for a fact that the only reason he had been brave enough to grab her earlier was to stop her from running straight into the rocket. Otherwise he wouldn't have dared to take physical control. But it had felt nice to have someone hold her together as she went to pieces. Being liberated was well and good, but all the liberation in the world couldn't replace that comforting shoulder she had screamed into, damning him for doing what she could not.

The most admirable thing was the was he had taken it—quietly, without so much as an angry or scolding word. Just held her without passing judgment. Even after the explosion, after she'd picked herself up, he'd been the one trying to justify himself. _Him._ _He_ hadn't shot out Steed's tyres. _He_ hadn't been ready to stand idly by while Larry took aim at her. And _he _was the one trying to make her understand that Larry would have hurt her, to make her see that he had been trying to do the right thing, the logical thing. He was the one who could see Larry for what he was.

_Damn it, Mike, come here and say it again. Someone's got to be objective, because I'm certainly not up to the job._

She wished he would, would put those arms back around her and give her his shoulder to cry on. Of course, she could always go back, ask for the support. It was as easy as turning around and trekking back down the length of the field, where everyone was doubtless still watching her retreat. He'd be willing. But she couldn't muster up the courage to do it herself, especially with Commander East there making it a crowd. And she was still so tired. She just wanted to be _found_, and for Gambit to just _be_ while she screamed or cried or said all the things buzzing around her brain like angry bees. For him to just listen in that quiet, reassuring way that never made her feel self-conscious.

But she felt so foolish at the moment--too foolish to ask for help. Already her logical mind was overcoming the shock, running through the day's events and encapsulating them in short, easy-to-digest factual statements. Larry was going to kill her. Gambit had stopped him. The man was mad, not hurt. Violent, angry. _Violent_. She needed to remember that, that fact that she had always known. And yet, she had admitted to Gambit that she wouldn't have known what to do if Larry had taken aim at him. No wonder he was leaving her alone, after a confession like that. She'd shot out Steed's tyres. She'd betrayed them both. How was she ever going to look either of them in the eye?


	2. Rescue Me

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yes, another chapter, and not too big a gap in-between! Excellent. If I can just keep this up, I'll be happy. We're still dealing with the immediate aftermath here, and it's going to take a couple more chapters to really set things up. Then things get...interesting. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait.

* * *

Far away, across the vast expanse of field, still glued to the spot, Steed stood next to Gambit, eyes fixed on Purdey's retreating back. Gambit's jaw was working madly, a sure sign he was upset. Steed decided to distract him from his personal crisis. There was work to be done, and there was little to be gained by leaving Gambit to sit and stew.

"We'll need transport," Steed said quietly, but with a firm undertone meant to pierce the younger man's consciousness and call him into action. "And I need to call in. Where did you park your Rover?"

Gambit shook his head, as though to clear it, and blinked at Steed as one coming out of a daze. "Sorry," he murmured, making a visible effort to gather his thoughts. "Um, it's down the road. Not far from where I've got Doomer's cronies chained up"

"Get it," Steed ordered, and intercepted Gambit's protests before they could start. "I'll attend to Purdey. Radio for assistance while you're at it. And Mike," the younger man, already moving to leave, stopped, and turned to meet his gaze, "whatever you may be thinking, you did the right thing."

Gambit nodded curtly, and cast one last look at Purdey's forlorn figure, before setting off on his task. Steed acknowledged East's existence with a quick nod before he started across the field, picking his way through the debris to catch up with Purdey. She had stopped by this point, with no more field to tread, and was gazing blankly at nothing. Steed put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to look at him, he thought he saw a brief spark of hope before she realized who he was.

_Not Gambit. Steed_. She looked away again, quickly, before Steed could catch the trace of disappointment that flickered across her face. She wasn't entirely successful, though, and Steed took it as a hopeful sign. If he wasn't the one to make her face light up, then that left only one other candidate, and if she was hoping for _him_, things were salvageable after all.

"Purdey," Steed said quietly, deciding against voicing his conclusion. He wasn't sure Purdey herself even knew what she wanted, and adding his two bits would only confuse her more. At the moment it was best to stick with facts and the most immediate problems, things that couldn't be argued, and didn't act as a source of guilt. "Gambit's gone for the Rover. We'll take you home as soon as possible. But you'll have to come back this way. Do you think you can scale the wall one last time?"

Purdey nodded a little at the reference, even though the thought of trudging past Larry's body obviously made her stomach churn, if the way she went green was anything to go by. Steed took her arm and gently steered her back, walking on her right hand side to act as a barrier between Purdey and the smoke, and the remains of the Rover. And Larry.

They waited in a heavy silence by the road for Gambit to return. When he finally did, Steed couldn't help but notice Purdey did her best to avoid eye contact with the man, climbing in the back seat with East, leaving Steed to sit up front with their anxious driver. From his vantage point, Steed watched Gambit glance in the rear view mirror at the girl every few seconds as he drove, but she was looking down—no eye contact. Steed sighed.

They intercepted the clean-up crew on the way, and stopped so Steed could fill them in on some of the pertinent details Gambit had missed. Mike hadn't been along when they'd found General Canvey at Doomer's. He saw the younger man stiffen when Steed revealed the missile's intended target. Gambit hadn't known just how high the stakes had been, and when they were on their way once more, Mike's knuckles were a fraction whiter as they clutched the steering wheel. Gambit had killed for Purdey today. He was only just realizing he'd also done the favour for several thousand more.

Steed hoped that would help.

This wasn't the time to discuss it, though, so Steed turned his mind to the more pressing problem of how to work the drop-off arrangements. Technically, the stud farm was closer to their current location, and East's car was waiting there. But the Ministry's guidelines were very clear in a situation like this. Doomer was a government man. Royal Air Force. Fairly high up. Privy to highly sensitive, classified information. And Gambit had just killed him. It had been the right decision, but a kill was still a kill, and all such terminations complicated the reporting process, led to all sorts of interviews and cross-checking. Gambit was doubtless going to be prodded for his actions. It was bad enough when it was standard issue heavy that had met his end at agent's hands, but when government branches started picking off one another's members, things got even messier, and to prevent further complications, it was essential that Purdey and Gambit not so much as discussed the weather until their individual versions of the day's events had been recorded for posterity.

To make matters worse, Purdey's earlier actions had well and truly put her in hot water with East. Despite what Steed had ordered earlier, the Commander was most certainly going to make his voice heard in the aftermath, and it was up to Steed to keep him under watch until the senior agent himself could present his own explanation for Purdey's behaviour—sooner rather than later. Even though this had been a personal crisis for Purdey, she wasn't going to find many sympathetic ears among the top brass. McKay perhaps, but so few of the rest were keen on the idea of a woman joining their old boy's club that any sign of weakness on Purdey's part could prove fatal to the girl's career, let alone going rogue and sabotaging her colleague's car when a madman like Larry was on the loose. That meant that Purdey was better off steering clear of both the Ministry and Gambit for the time being. Steed already knew he was going to be hard pressed to come up with an alternate explanation for her actions. The last thing he needed was someone bringing up the idea of some sort of love triangle/conspiracy between Purdey and Gambit. And Larry.

But protocol was only the official excuse to keep his two young colleagues apart. Leaving Purdey and Gambit alone in the vehicle, without himself or East to act as a buffer, could be disastrous. Steed had managed to hold the younger man back, to keep him from following Purdey into that field. But Gambit was looking more anxious by the minute, and Steed didn't know if the younger man would be able to let her alone, even if only to offer some unnecessary apology. Purdey was quiet now, but Steed could see the earlier screaming hysteria still lurked beneath the surface. What she might say in reaction to Gambit's words was unknown, and there was no guarantee that it wouldn't be damaging, so much so that they'd be unable to work together in the future.

But even if she had calmed down, or wanted Gambit to make the first move, as he was certain she had earlier, Steed thought Purdey needed a day or two to herself, to straighten out the events in her own mind. Left alone with Mike, she could just as easily swing the other way and go from anger to seeking comfort in ways that she would never contemplate had this been an ordinary assignment. As vulnerable as she was at the moment, Gambit could prove a risky temptation. Would she ask? Would he oblige? Steed knew that Gambit, despite what others may have thought, didn't take the idea of getting involved with Purdey lightly. He wanted it for the right reasons, which was why he hadn't wanted her sympathy during his own personal crisis the previous year. But Gambit hadn't been plagued by guilt then, wasn't in the position to feel as though he owed Purdey whatever she asked. And Purdey, after losing her ex-lover—or fiancé, if a planned dreamhouse was any indication—could just as easily take on another to fill the void his return and demise had caused, to sooth reopened wounds, and freshly cut ones. But if either of them came to regret it, or, worse still, if Purdey simply lost interest…Steed knew he'd have a hell of a time getting them to work together again.

On the other hand, Steed wasn't entirely certain he should leave Purdey alone. Obviously Doomer had been a significant part of her past, more than either Gambit or Steed had suspected, and because they'd both underestimated the situation, Purdey had just about run into a missile over Doomer. What else was she capable of? Steed looked at Gambit again, and looked at the hands on the steering wheel, clenched until the knuckles were white, jaw working all the way. Come to think of it, Gambit wasn't looking too promising, either. But he couldn't very well baby-sit both of them, together. He could always recruit a car and driver at the Ministry, and East could ride with him back to the farm, where the man had left his own car for the Rover. And Gambit's vehicle was his own. Steed didn't have any choice but to drop her at home, alone, and hope for the best. Steed sighed as Purdey's turn came up, and when Gambit looked his way for guidance, Steed nodded. _Go._

"I'm sending you two home for the rest of the day," he announced, and waited for a reaction. "The party's long over. There's nothing more to be gained by prolonging things."

Despite his own mental anguish, Gambit's efficient, official side kicked in, and with it, loyalty to procedure. "What about clean-up, reports?"

"I'll attend to the former," Steed told him. "As for the reports, the Ministry can handle a few days' grace. I'd rather you rest. It's been a trying day. When you feel up to it, you can start putting your own versions down for posterity. I'll call you to reconvene when it's time." He glanced back at Purdey, who raised her eyes briefly to meet his. "All right?"

She nodded slightly. "Okay."

They'd reached her flat by this point, and Gambit pulled in front. Steed got out to give Purdey clear passage, then fell into step behind her as she started down the 21 steps. He cast a backward look at Gambit, who was watching them miserably. Undoubtedly, he wanted to walk Purdey down, but Steed could tell by his tired expression that he knew his presence likely wouldn't be wise. Perhaps he, too, had thought up the two possible ways a discussion could end.

At the bottom of the stairs, Purdey absently fished in her pocket for her keys, noticing as she extracted them her motorcycle gloves.

"My bike," she said dazedly. "It's still…there."

"I'll have it sent for," Steed assured, and she nodded absently as she slid the key into the lock. Steed reached out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, felt the tensed muscles beneath his fingers. "I'm not going to ask if you're all right, because I already know the answer. But I would like to know if you're going to be, if you need to talk to someone. Not me, necessarily, although you're welcome to, but someone with the Ministry's psychiatry department, or—"

"No," Purdey said firmly, as though she'd realized she could—should--do more on her own. Whether for the sake of regulations, or the team, he didn't know. "No, I'll be fine. I just—I need some time. To think. To make sense of it all."

Steed nodded, satisfied she wouldn't open a vein or anything before he could check on her again. "I understand. But if you do need something—"

"Just time. But I'll call if I do." She cast a look up the stairs, and Steed realized that Gambit was standing at the top, hands in pockets, watching them mournfully. Their eyes met for perhaps the first time since Doomer had been shot, and Steed could almost feel the emotion swirling around him, thick and stifling, but then Purdey looked away and went inside, closing the door behind her without another word. Steed looked up at Gambit, but the younger man had already turned and started his way back to the car.

In her flat, Purdey heard the Rover start up and drive away, the feeling of emptiness growing as the hum of the engine faded into the distance, carrying away her lifeline. He was gone. Gone. She felt the tears spring back unbidden as she staggered over to the cabinet, dug out the framed photograph of Larry, took it with her to the bedroom, set it on her side table as she struggled out of her boots and curled up on the bed. She'd felt so sure of her self a moment ago, so sure that when Gambit saw that look in her eyes he would say to hell with everything and come bounding down those stairs to save her. But now…

"Why?" she asked the picture angrily. "I was happy again. Why did you have to take it away, just like before?" She buried her face in a pillow. "You even took him, didn't you? You made sure of it."

Whenever they had her, the enemy, she'd known, somehow, that Gambit would come for her. Because he couldn't possibly do anything else. He was wired that way. Battered, bloody, battle-scarred, but he always came. She knew it wasn't captivity that frightened her. It was the idea that he would think she was lost, unreachable, and that he would give up on her as a result. Because when there was no way she could get herself out of trouble, she needed someone to save her. This time the enemy was herself. She needed someone now. And he wasn't coming.

Purdey felt more tears come. _He wasn't coming._


	3. Face to Face

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, McBain, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Better a bit late than never. Been distracted by other writing projects, so editing took a back seat, but this chapter is much longer than the first two. Purdey and Gambit have some issues to sort out. But, of course, there will be a wrench or two in the works. That's how we get a longer fic. Enjoy!

* * *

Steed leaned on the buzzer, sending a steady whine to the ears of the flat's occupant. Hopefully, it would prove annoying enough that he'd have to answer the door. It was grating on Steed's nerves already.

"All right," came a disgruntled voice from the other side of the door. "Just a minute." Steed didn't let up, not until the door opened and Mike Gambit's tired features were revealed. "I said I was coming," he protested as Steed finally released the button.

"I wanted to be certain," Steed replied, edging past Gambit into the flat.

"Of what? That the bloody thing works?"

"That you weren't buying time to put in the ear plugs," Steed said by way of explanation, setting bowler and brolly on the bar. He gave the untidy flat and mussed sofa-bed a quick once over before looking to the man himself. Gambit's expression was glum. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

Gambit snorted. "I'd actually have to get to sleep first," he muttered bitterly, eyeing the bed like an old enemy.

"Ah, so I see," Steed commented, noticing the half-empty bottle of Scotch and the used glass. He turned the bottle and read the label, tsked. "Mike I'm disappointed in you."

Gambit sighed, stuck his hands in the pockets of his well-creased pants, and pondered his stocking feet, looking for all the world like a guilty schoolboy. "Yeah," he conceded. "So am I. I know there are better ways to handle these things, but I've never been comfortable opening up to one of those damn therapists the Ministry tries to foist on us." He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"I was referring to the label, actually," Steed clarified, shaking his head with mild distaste. "But your explanation is rather telling." He looked Gambit up and down, took in the rumpled clothes and the mussed hair, the dark circles under the eyes and the tight features. "Have you been out at all the past five days?"

Gambit shook his head. "Just once for provisions," he said grimly, rubbing his eyes. "And I suppose it's fairly obvious how much I've been sleeping."

"Kendrick could give you something for that," Steed pointed out.

"For the sleep, not the nightmares," Gambit contradicted. "But when I'm awake, I try to dissect the whole damn thing, see if I could have done something differently. If I'd gone for a leg shot, or shouted a warning. If I'd timed it better. If I'd gotten there just a few seconds earlier. Maybe then I wouldn't have had to kill him." He smiled mirthlessly. "But in the end, I keep coming back to what I _saw_, and the calculation always works out the same. Based on what I knew…"

"You did the right thing," Steed assured. "Doomer was unstable. He would've killed you, Purdey, anyone who stood in his way. Don't forget that. Nor the missile's target."

"I suppose," Gambit allowed, looking off into some past only he could see. "But he did his share of damage all the same." He looked back to Steed. "Have you seen her since?"

Steed shook his head. "I don't think Purdey's open to visitors. I have called in, on occasion, just to ensure she's still there, but she's kept things fairly short. Have you?"

Gambit shook his head. "I've picked up the phone a few times. Once I actually dialed and she answered, but I hung up on her. I didn't know what to say. 'Sorry for shooting that ex-flame of yours?'" He shrugged half-heartedly. "That was three days ago, and I _still_ don't know what to say."

"Well, you had better make something up. I intend to bring you both in for the paperwork." Steed cast a cursory eye over the stack of handwritten sheets that lay next to the Scotch. "You've already made a start. You two might as well finish it."

Gambit blanched. "Both of us?"

"Both of you."

"She won't come," Gambit said with conviction.

"She's already agreed. I rang her just before coming here." Steed checked his watch. "You've just enough time for a shower and a shave." He raised an eyebrow at Gambit's appearance. "Unless you're putting all your money on a sympathy vote."

"More like basketcase," Gambit muttered, and looked ready to protest, but Steed's expression was one of amiable stubbornness. Gambit stared at him. Steed stared back. Logically, Gambit knew trying to wait out Steed was nearly impossible. Three hours later he'd still be there, probably with a drink and the crossword. Twelve, and he'd be commenting on the BBC evening news. Mike knew he would have to give up. He kept it up for a minute or two anyway. No reason for Steed to know he had him beat before he started. "Fifteen minutes," he told the senior agent. Steed smiled. "And then there's something I want to discuss with you," he added, and the look on his face filled Steed with a sense of foreboding. Now that things had had time to settle, he knew that the mending was due to begin. The reunion couldn't happen too soon.

***

Purdey strode down the corridor, keeping her eyes straight ahead, just as she had at the ballet, the first day she had returned after her engagement to Larry had been broken. She didn't dare let her gaze slide to the left or right. If she did, she knew she would see them—agents, file clerks, senior staff, secretaries—all watching her, whispering as she passed. She knew how quickly gossip spread in the Ministry corridors. For a department dedicated to keeping things secret, it was surprising how quickly news spread. The story had had five days to circulate, an eternity in the world of gyms and breakrooms, and likely boasted a dozen different variations. She could only imagine how her absence since that dark day had affected the rumour mill. She wondered if Gambit had shot any of the stories down. But then she didn't know much about Gambit's whereabouts these past few days. Last she had seen him, he had been standing at the top of her stairs, hands in his pockets, looking sad and grim. She was fairly certain he was her unidentified hang-up three days earlier, but otherwise he hadn't made any outward attempts to contact her, and she was feeling the worse for it, smaller, and tireder, and more disappointed as each day passed. It had been Steed who had made the call that morning, asking her to come in to pick up the necessary forms so she could set about filing a report. She didn't know what she'd say to Gambit when she finally saw him again. All that sitting and stewing had fogged her mind. How could she face him after the way things had turned out? After what had transpired? He obviously felt badly about Larry, but she didn't hate him for it. But what if he held it against her, somehow? At the same time, she _was_ angry at Mike, but not for the reasons he likely believed. He must have known how much she'd been suffering all this time, how much she needed a friendly shoulder to cry on. And he had only made one aborted attempt to contact her. It hurt. She couldn't deny it. But at the same time, she'd been thankful that he respected her privacy, and she knew she couldn't have it both ways. She shook her head. Nothing made sense.

Purdey was yanked violently from her musings by the sound of raised voices and running feet. She looked up to see a man--short, balding, and wearing the sort of glasses only favoured by the special breed known as "boffin"--cannoning down the hall toward her. Behind him, three agents were in hot pursuit. The fleeing man wasn't particularly large, and obviously a little past middle age. Purdey knew the odds were in her favour. She positioned herself in the middle of the corridor, planting her feet firmly, sending a signal that no one—least of all the boffin--was going to get past her.

He didn't take the hint, obviously making the assumption that any female to be found in the Ministry's corridors likely spent the majority of her time at a desk. It cost him, because he tried to push past her, and got an elbow in the stomach for his efforts. He doubled over, wheezing, and danced back a few steps, eyeing her with newfound respect. He took in the stubborn set of the jaw, the hands on her hips. Purdey knew she looked grimmer because of her ordeal, and her expression was that much more menacing as a result. That didn't stop the man from taking a swing at her, sending his fist on a long, wide arc toward her . Purdey dodged, but in the confines of the corridor she couldn't move far enough, and his fist managed to hit her arm, sending a sharp burst of pain up to her shoulder. Purdey winced in surprise, glanced down at her arm to find a small tear in the fabric, and fresh scratch on the newly exposed flesh, only just starting to bleed. Purdey turned her attention back to her opponent, unable to believe he packed a punch strong enough to tear both cotton and flesh. She eyed the offending fist, spotted an oversized, rather garish, ring on the middle finger, and chalked the blood up to that unfair advantage. Shaking the slight tingling sensation out of her injured arm, she backed up a bit to give herself the necessary space. The boffin smiled, obviously thinking she was ready to retreat. But that was before the long leg lifted in a graceful kick that caught him just under the chin, lifting him off the floor and sending him flying backwards to land in a heap on the Ministry's tastefully bland linoleum floor. Two agents who had been in pursuit caught up with the intent of dragging him back from whence he came. One of them she recognized as Larry, the one-time victim of the brain-draining machine, although a few weeks of convalescence had seen him make a full recovery. The second agent was a younger fellow by the name of Thompson, more or less an unknown entity from after her time in training. The third man in their party hadn't bothered to run, and came striding up from behind, even as Thompson set about rolling the crumpled boffin onto his stomach and handcuffing him. McBain, she identified, one of the Ministry's senior, officious types. He began chastising Thompson over his clumsy work with the handcuffs. Larry rolled his eyes expansively and decided to make his way over to Purdey instead, smiling winningly at the girl as she dusted off her hands.

"Thanks," he began, and Purdey smiled slightly.

"All in a day's work, Larry." She made the connection a split second after the name left her lips, and the realization was like a suckerpunch in the gut, drawing back every unpleasant thought and emotion associated with her current situation in one overwhelming wave. It took a great effort to keep expression in check as she tried to paste a smile on her face.

"Purdey!" She spun at the sound of Steed's voice. He and Gambit were at the opposite end of the corridor, hurrying toward her. Purdey mentally steeled herself when she saw Mike. This was going to be tricky. She was actually grateful for Larry's presence. It would keep things from getting too hot right off the top.

"Are you all right?" Steed asked when they reached her.

"Fine," Purdey assured as evenly as she could, shaking the numbness from her arm, which was lingering longer than she would have thought considering the blow. "But he's more dangerous then he looks. I knew fashion could be painful, but when your jewelry starts fighting back..."

"Let me see." Gambit took her arm almost instinctively, rolling up the sleeve before either of them really realized what he was doing. Purdey had a chance to look at him without him looking back. From the dark circles under his eyes, and the tight jaw, Purdey concluded that he'd been getting as much sleep as she had.

"Bit of a bruise, and a small cut. Doesn't look too bad," Gambit was saying, but his voice sounded rougher than usual. He looked up and caught Purdey's eye, released her arm so quickly it was as if he'd been burned. "The bruise'll be sore tomorrow, and he's made a mess of your shirt, but you'll be fine." He added, pointedly looking the other way. Purdey watched him with a hint of despair. The brief touch had been a taste of what she craved, an all-too-transient physical connection that offered hope for the beginnings of a reconciliation. She knew she should follow it up before the moment was lost completely, but she was too shaken by both her encounter with the boffin, and she didn't relish attempting it in front of the unfortunately-named Larry, either. Maybe Mike would try again later, and they could go from there.

"Who was he?" she asked Larry instead, trying to break the tense silence that had settled over the small group.

"Who? McAffrey?" Larry jerked his head back toward where Thompson and McBain were tending to Purdey's opponent. "Scientist. One of theirs. Or so we found out this morning. We've suspected him for some time, but he's working on high profile stuff, and the Minister didn't want us to make any false accusations and scare him off, so we've had him under surveillance. When we got confirmation we went to arrest him, but he must have gotten wind of it somehow and made a break for it."

"I see," Purdey murmured, rubbing her arm absently. Thompson had hauled the scientist upright by this point, and McBain had turned his ever-vigilant attention to the trio.

"Ah, Gambit, Purdey," he nodded to each of them in turn. "I trust you're here to file your reports concerning the Doomer incident. It's been five days, and that's an unusually long lag time between conclusion and reporting. I know McKay's inclined to be generous considering the, uh, nature of the nature of the incident, but we need accurate reports, and if any more time elapses I doubt we'll get them." He looked from Purdey to Gambit and back again with suspicion. "And need I remind you that there was a kill involved? I trust the pair of you haven't been colluding?"

"No," Purdey and Gambit chorused in nearly-identical weary monotones.

"We're going to pick up the necessary paperwork just as soon as we've left you," Steed assured, in a voice that said he would be happy to do the latter. McBain was officious and meant well, but he was doing nothing for group morale.

"Excellent," McBain said with a nod. "Oh, and Gambit, about that application you filed—"

"Now's not the time, McBain," Gambit almost growled. "We can talk about it later."

"Yes, of course," McBain said faintly, looking mildly taken aback at Gambit's change in demanour. "You must file that report first. And we must get Dr. McAffrey safely locked away." He indicated for Larry to join Thompson in restraining the man, and the latter sighed reluctantly and turned to Purdey.

"Work to do," he told the group, eyeing Gambit like the competition he was. "If you'd like, we can have a drink and a talk a bit later," he added hopefully to Purdey, while Gambit worked his jaw but said nothing. Purdey knew things were deeply wrong if a proposition made right in front of her colleague didn't provoke a reaction. She smiled pleasantly, but not too encouragingly. "Maybe," she allowed, not committing herself to anything. Larry accepted this with a large grin himself, before nodding to Gambit and Steed, and helping Thompson drag off McAffrey, with McBain in tow. The boffin looked back as he went, and cast one final glance in Purdey's direction. He smiled at her, a big, audacious smile that didn't suit his circumstances at all. Purdey frowned as a chill ran down her spine. There was something wrong here. She didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because she suddenly remembered Gambit's presence beside her.

Tension coursed through the air. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"McBain was correct," Steed said finally. "Those reports _do_ need to be filed. We should head downstairs for the paperwork."

"Right," Gambit concurred distractedly.

"Yes," Purdey agreed. Steed frowned. This was getting them nowhere. He sighed as they started to make their way down the hall to the stairs, noticing how Purdey and Gambit automatically moved to either side of him, so Steed himself formed a moving barrier. Purdey kept casting worried looks toward Gambit. Gambit looked everywhere but toward the girl. No banter. No flirting. Not even bickering. Steed didn't like it at all. Gambit looked resigned, defeated. Purdey looked haunted and tortured. Even their clothing was gloomy. Steed wasn't certain, but he didn't think it was a coincidence that both of them had chosen black attire. With his own navy suit, they looked like a trio of mourners on their way to a funeral. He only hoped it wasn't the triumvirate's. He also hoped he hadn't been wrong in keeping them apart. They certainly weren't at risk of getting over-involved now. Now he would have been happy if they so much as looked at each other. If nothing happened soon, he'd have to meddle. They couldn't work like this.

Downstairs, the file clerk gave them each a set of required forms. It hadn't been strictly necessary for them needed to come together, but Steed had been hoping that the contact would force them to sort things out. Gambit and Purdey looked at the walls, the clerk, the forms, the ceiling, him—anything to avoid having to acknowledge each other's existence. Even their body language suggested avoidance. Gambit put as much space between himself and the girl as was humanly possible, looking ill-at-ease the entire time, as though her mere presence caused him physical pain. Purdey kept hugging herself and rubbing her arm distractedly. By the time they left the office, Steed was feeling more than a little discouraged. He hadn't wanted to push them, but it was clear interference was necessary. Gambit stopped halfway out the office door, rifling through his paperwork. "They forgot a T-47," he observed, with all the animation of a lump of rock. "I'll be right back." He turned on his heel and returned to the file clerk, a pretty young woman with bright green eyes. Out in the corridor, Steed watched him through the doorway. The girl was clearly flirting, all inviting eyes and coquettish smile, but Gambit was being polite, nothing more. No quip, no confident smirk, just weary professionalism. Steed couldn't stand it anymore. He turned to Purdey, who was pretending to be terribly interested in a poster on the wall. He hooked her arm with his umbrella, forcing her to turn around so she was looking through the door at Gambit as well.

"I don't want to intrude," he told Purdey, "but you and Gambit have some things to sort out."

"I need to sort some things out for myself, first," Purdey replied, mentally kicking herself for wanting Gambit to make the first move. She had told herself she was going to take the initiative if Gambit was forthcoming, but now that he had proved so reluctant to even be in close proximity, all her courage had gone. She didn't know how to approach him. "I need more time," was all that came out of her mouth. She needed to muster up the reserves again. This whole business was draining all her energy, her life force. _Damn you, Larry._

"You've had rather a lot," Steed said pointedly, a hint of annoyance slipping into his voice. If even Steed was on edge, things were bad. "Now, I'd be quite happy to give you more, but there's someone else who can't wait much longer."

Purdey couldn't help but snort a little at that. "Gambit's old enough to look after himself for a bit," she said with a little bit of her usual vitriol. After all, this was her personal crisis. Larry was _her_ ex. She was the one who needed the kid gloves.

"Exactly," Steed said with feeling. "Permanently, in fact."

Purdey blinked. "What--?"

"Gambit's looking into transfers," Steed explained, remembering the conversation in the car, how frighteningly serious Gambit had looked about the prospect. "Overseas transfers. Five-year term, solo assignments."

Purdey blanched. "He wouldn't."

"He is. That was what McBain meant by the application. Think about it, Purdey. He's been alone with his thoughts just as long as you. The nearest he's come to working this past week is to make a call to transfers. And you know how the Germans have been looking for an opportunity to ask him back ever since he plugged that leak for them last year." He paused meaningfully to let Purdey digest this fact before moving on. "And if you need any more proof that this has hit him just as hard as you, I've more than a mild suspicion that he's been drinking a bit more than usual, and he's all but eliminated social calls. I had to more or less drag him out of bed this morning."

Purdey looked away, not able to meet the penetrating gaze Steed was fixing upon her. The senior agent ploughed on regardless.

"At the risk of sounding overdramatic, if you want to see much of him in the future, I'd talk to him while you still have the chance."

"Why?" Purdey wondered, quietly, as though in a dream, before casting her eyes upward. "I'd no idea…if I'd known…" She scrubbed her eyes angrily. "If he's in such a bad way, why hasn't he come to me?"

Steed raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "Would you? After what happened? He thinks you despise him."

Purdey recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "I don't," she retorted sharply.

"I'm not the one you should be telling," Steed pointed out, pointing to Gambit who had just stepped out of the office. Purdey looked at Gambit. Gambit looked at Purdey.

_Come on, Mike,_ she mentally pleaded. _Just look at me. It's not true, any of it. What are you waiting for?_ Gambit didn't budge, and when he looked at her, his expression was so dark, so brooding, it quelled what little courage she had been able to muster. If he really believed all of that, maybe it really was a lost cause. If that were true, she couldn't face up to the damage she had done. To him.

"I'm going home," she said quietly, admitting defeat, and fled.

Gambit watched the retreating figure with a heavy heart.

"She says she doesn't hate you," Steed told him quietly, stepping in a little closer.

"It doesn't have to be hate," Gambit replied, pondering the ground, "to be destructive."

"If that's the case," Steed prodded, "what do you have to lose?"

Gambit's mouth twitched. Steed had a point. His relationship with Purdey couldn't possibly deteriorate any more than it already had. There was no more to be lost. _And too much I can't afford to lose?_

With the first bit of determination Steed had seen from him all day, Gambit took off down the corridor after her. Steed smiled.

Purdey was still walking, but she was starting to feel as though she had made a mistake. She was just about to turn around and go back when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Purdey!" Gambit's voice echoed down the corridor. Purdey froze, turned round slowly. Gambit was striding after her, a sense of purpose evident in his step. It was heartening, and Purdey felt her shoulders square a little. This was more like it. She started back down the corridor the way she had come, closing the space between them.

They met each other halfway, coming to a stop inches apart.

"Purdey."

"Gambit."

A brief, awkward silence followed, which they tried mightily to fill with clearings of the throat and self-conscious adjustments of clothing. When they finally tried to speak, it was at the same time.

"You first," Gambit offered.

"No, you first. Please," Purdey insisted. _That was all I wanted._

"All right." Gambit ran a finger along the inside of his collar, rolled up the papers in his hand. "Purdey, I…I know it's been hard for you, these last few days," he began.

"From what Steed tells me, you haven't been faring much better," Purdey said with a nervous laugh, and immediately regretted it, because Gambit winced a little. For the first time, she realized that she had to treat him gently. She wanted Gambit to make the first move, and he was trying to do just that. That meant she had to be the generous one, and would have to keep the acerbic quips to a minimum, because clearly he was feeling just as raw as she was. Gambit wasn't going to make many more attempts to reach her if she didn't choose her words carefully. If she didn't he'd really think she hated him, and Germany's gain would be her loss.

"No. No, I guess I haven't," he said quietly. "And I know you probably still need more time, and I'll give it to you, as much as you need. But, if you could spare me a few minutes. I'd just like to know…I mean, if I should…" He rubbed his face nervously. "I'd like to know what my options are."

Purdey looked at him, really looked at him for the first time, at how sad and tired he looked. She swallowed hard. She wasn't certain she felt like talking the whole thing over just yet, but it wasn't fair to want Gambit to give her space and comfort her at the same time. And she could see what the wait was doing to him. It was the final push she needed. Surely she could spare him a little time to put his mind at ease, to keep him from leaving the country. Surely she could swallow her discomfort for that long. Then she could go back to piecing things back together for herself. But not here, in the hall, where she could feel every person that passed watching them out of the corner of his or her eye.

"You're right," she said finally, noting Gambit's look of surprise. "You're absolutely right. We need to talk about this. Now. Come by my flat. Bring Steed. We may as well straighten things out together."

Gambit looked so relieved it was all she could do not to embrace him right then and there. "Right," and he didn't sound so beaten down. "Right. I'll see you there."

"I had better," she replied, already hurrying away. She felt a little better already. Maybe things were going to turn out all right after all.


	4. The Accident

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: It's been much too long since an update, but the rewrites for this chapter were just that--almost complete rewrites--and therefore, extensive. The whole scene's been altered and expanded. I should note that such alterations were assisted by the beta comments of rabidsamfan, who deserves thanks for all the input she gave me after reading this fic. A lot of the weaknesses that will be ironed out of the fic for your reading pleasure were pointed out by her, so thank you!

Anyway, hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. Things start to get...interesting for Purdey this time round. Never a dull moment in Avengerland. See you again (hopefully) sooner than last time.

* * *

Purdey opened her hands and stretched her fingers, all the while keeping her palms pressed against the wheel to hold it steady. Her palms were starting to sweat and she desperately wished she could let go of the sticky surface completely, but the last thing she needed in her state of mind was to lose control of the car. When she told Gambit they needed to talk, it had lifted a weight off her shoulders, but now, sitting in her car, alone, her imagination was running away with her, and she was starting to envision all the possible ways the conversation could go, how awful things could turn out. At the very least it was going to be supremely uncomfortable for everyone involved. She was going to have to tell them everything—about her, about Larry, about the ballet. About why they had broken up. She glanced in the rearview mirror at Steed's Jaguar, following close behind, and could just make out a pair of decidedly masculine silhouettes. How they would react was anyone's guess. What would they think when she told them how much she had risked for a man who had…_hurt_ her? She swallowed nervously, and looked away. She hoped they had a shred of respect for her left by the end of the day.

Her hands were sweating again. She swore she hadn't sweat like this since her days on the training course. Purdey removed one hand from the wheel in disgust and wiped it on her skirt, before switching hands and repeating the process. By the time she finished, the other hand had gone sticky again, and she sighed in exasperation. She was usually more level-headed than this, not one to melt into a drippy mess. She tried to be practical instead, remind herself of the reasons she had arranged the meeting. They couldn't go on avoiding each other forever. They needed to be able to trust one another, to work as a team. And Gambit. She had to say something to him. What was it Steed had said? That he was looking for a transfer, possibly overseas. She couldn't believe he was so willing to break up their little group, after all that they'd been through. _No, it's me_, she realized. _I'm the one tearing us apart. I'm the one who can't let go. I'm the one who's been waiting to be rescued, so I don't have to take responsibility for the whole mess. If I hadn't been so involved._ She sighed, thumped the wheel with one sweaty palm in frustration. How many more times was her life going to be turned upside down? Why did everything always seem to fall apart?

She tore her attention away from her musings and tried to focus on her driving. The world looked a little fuzzy, and she pushed the button that dispensed the wiper fluid before turning the wipers on to clean the windscreen. It didn't help. The world was blurrier than ever before. Purdey closed her eyes and opened them again, wide, blinking to try and restore focus. It still didn't help. Her vision was blurring badly now, trees and people and cars skewing sideways and bleeding into each other, colours swirling into a sickening blend. Purdey's heart started to pound, hard, each beat echoing loudly in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the car, of the outside world. Her breathing spread up, and she started gasping for air. She felt faint. Dizzy. The world faded in and out. She put a hand to her forehead, and it came slick with sweat. She _never_ sweat like this, even when she was nervous. Was she so stressed about the meeting that she was having some sort of attack? No, she was too level-headed for that. But there was no question: something was very, very wrong.

Behind her, Steed and Gambit were considering the impending meaning with more than a little trepidation.

"Are you going to be all right?" Steed asked the younger man, noting Gambit's tight jaw and white knuckles. He had driven Gambit from his flat to the Ministry to prevent Mike from changing his mind at the last minute and holing up in his flat, and he was glad Gambit's lack of a car was forcing him to ride with Steed to the meeting as well. With Purdey's TR7 ahead of them, he could see to it that neither of them destroyed what little progress they had made by making a run for it.

Gambit nodded, a little shakily. "I'm okay," he said, in a stronger voice than Steed would have suspected. "We need to clear the air. There's no way around it. If we keep on the way we are, we're going to be chained to a desk for infinity. But I still don't know what the devil I'm going to say when we get there. And it doesn't mean it's going to be fun."

"No," Steed agreed. "I don't imagine it will be. But I'm glad the pair of you have seen reason. I know it may seem hard to believe, but I think your relationship with Purdey is strong enough to withstand this. I don't claim it'll be easy, and it will require a great deal of understanding on both sides. But the sooner things are out in the open, the sooner we can start getting back to normal, and I think once Purdey has a chance to talk to you, you'll feel much better."

"I hope so," Gambit murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He fixed his gaze out of the windscreen on the back of Purdey's yellow car, and Steed followed suit. They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, when a small skid to the right by the TR7 caught the attention of both.

"Did she…?" Gambit began, worry edging into his voice.

"Yes," Steed confirmed, eyes fixed on the little car. "And she's doing it again."

Gambit bit his lip and followed the path of the TR7 as it sloughed slightly to the left. "Something's wrong," he said quietly. "Purdey's one of the best drivers I know. She doesn't make mistakes like that unless she's in trouble."

"She's not being followed, as near as I can tell," Steed reported with a glance in the rearview mirror. "I haven't heard any shots, and she certainly wasn't impaired when she was at the Ministry, so I doubt alcohol is our culprit."

"You don't think she's trying to…bloody hell!"

Gambit's scream coincided with Purdey's car swerving on to the wrong side of the road and back again, narrowly missing a small Volkswagon beetle traveling in the opposite direction. The car overcorrected wildly, the front right tyre was up on to the sidewalk. Gambit watched in horror as the car struggled to right itself, but only managed to aim for a rather large tree occupying some poor surprised soul's yard. As they watched, helpless, the car ran headlong into the trunk, coming to a stop half-on, half-off the sidewalk, one back wheel spinning uselessly.

Steed quickly pulled the car to the side of the road, mind reeling, with Gambit's whispered "Oh no. Please no. No, no, no," providing the soundtrack. Mike didn't even wait for the car to come to a complete stop before wrenching off his safety belt and throwing open the car door. Steed watched the lean, lithe figure race across the neighbouring lawn, jump a hedge, and make a beeline for the TR7's driver's door. He didn't bother to call after him, to tell him to keep an eye open for a possible trap. He knew it wouldn't do any good. When it came to Purdey, Gambit was single-minded. It was like trying to dissuade a charging rhino. He surveyed the scene himself, eyeing up the people who were peeking out of windows and opening doors, forming an audience for the strange scene. No one looked terribly suspicious, as though they had any hand in what had transpired. Genuine curiousity, fear, and anxiety was written on the dozen or so faces, including the owner of the yard in which the large tree had led its up-until-now peaceful existence. A middle-aged woman in a cardigan, she was standing on her front step, eyes as wide as saucers. Steed made his way toward her.

"Madam, I need to use your phone."

Gambit, meanwhile, had reached the car door. He peered through the window and could just barely make out the silhouette of a slumped figure. He tried the door handle, cursed when he found it to be locked. Not ready to waste any more time, he braced himself, focusing his mind long enough to send his fist through the glass without resistance. The shards tore at his hand as he reached inside to unlock the door, but he didn't feel them. All of his energy was focused on Purdey.

He felt sick as he opened the door, felt sicker when he saw her slumped over the wheel, blonde head cradled in her arms. One tentative hand reached out and shook her gently, just in case she was simply dazed, but she didn't stir. It was only then that he moved her gently, taking one arm off the wheel, feeling for broken bones even as he rested it gently in her lap, before cupping her head and easing it gently back against the seat.

There was surprisingly little damage. Some slight bruising on her cheek, a small cut on her forehead, but that was the extent of it, and Gambit realized, looking back, that she had managed to kill the car's speed as it approached the tree. He'd thought it was his own mind slowing everything down to take in every detail of the scene, but the TR7's bonnet was mostly intact, indicating only a mild impact. But Purdey _was _unconscious, and that worried him. He unbuckled her seat belt and slid her gently out of the vehicle, resting her head against his shoulder while he pulled the rest of her out and lay her back on the ground. Kneeling beside her, Gambit brushed some of the broken glass from the window aside, and took a hold of her shoulders and cradling her in one arm, using the other hand to check her pulse.

"Her heart's racing," he told Steed, who was only just returning from making his phone call. He dropped into a crouch beside them.

"I've called an ambulance," Steed told him. "They'll be here any minute." Gambit nodded and turned his attention back to Purdey. She was deathly pale, and it was only the fluttering heartbeat under his fingertips that convinced Gambit she was still alive. He left her wrist alone for the moment, started to gently tap her face, each cheek in turn, in an attempt to wake her.

"Purdey," he said urgently. "Come on, Purdey-girl. You can't leave with things the way they are. We haven't had our talk yet. And you _never_ miss out on a chance to talk." He tried to smile at his own joke, but the sob welling up in his throat made it too hard. He reached up and wiped away the tears before they fell. If she did wake up, it wouldn't do for her to see him cry.

Her eyelids fluttered and she frowned, a faint groan escaping her lips. Gambit's heart leapt hopefully, hoping he'd made progress. "Purdey," he urged, touching her cheek again, but stroking this time with gentle fingers. After a moment, the blue eyes opened and regarded him blearily. He could tell she was dazed, barely comprehending her surroundings.

"Mike…?" The voice was weak, but it was there. Gambit could have wept with relief.

He nodded vigourously. "Yes, Purdey, it's me. Can you tell me what happened?"

She furrowed her brow. "I…" she began, but then her voice faded and her eyes slid shut, despite Gambit's screams of protest. He took her wrist again, and felt his own heart sink with each beat if hers.

"Oh, hell, Steed, now her heart's slowing down. She's hardly breathing." Steed could hear the rising panic in his voice, saw the helplessness in his eyes.

"They'll be here in a few minutes," he repeated the younger man, trying to keep the edge of fear out of his own voice. "She only needs to hang on a few more minutes.

Gambit's gaze rose to meet his, and he could swear there were tears in the blue eyes.

"I don't think she has a few minutes," Mike said, almost in a daze. He gestured to her wrist helplessly. "I'm losing her."

Steed swallowed hard.

_No, not on such bad terms. __Not now_, Gambit pleaded. Out loud, he repeated those few words he had said so many times before, those words he had hoped he would never have to repeat in these circumstances.

"Oh, Purdey, Purdey…"

***

"…Purdey, Purdey, Purdey. Can you hear me, Purdey?"

It was dark. Purdey knew that much. Very dark. And she was lost, lost in the dark, floating in an endless void. She could hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing. Except for the voice. Someone was calling her. She could follow that voice, maybe find her way back to…somewhere.

"Purdey," the voice said again, and she could feel herself stir, wake, gradually regain consciousness. The dark was fading. She could make it. Just a bit farther…

"She's waking up," the voice said. "Come on, dear, you can do it."

Purdey's eyes flickered open, and she found herself staring at a white-tiled ceiling. Not her car's ceiling, that was certain. She tried to turn her head in order to see where she was, who was calling, but a flash of pain put a stop to that course of action. Instead, the source of the voice leaned over her. A woman, by the look of things. A nurse. She smiled warmly down at the confused girl.

"There you are. You gave everyone quite a scare." The nurse slipped a hand behind Purdey's head, cradled the back of her skull while using her other hand to support Purdey's back. Purdey groaned. Her head pounded, but with the nurse's assistance she managed to sit up and take stock of her surroundings. A sterile examination room, complete with charts and a sink for scrubbing up. A second nurse was poring over a file, clearly the person to whom the other nurse had spoken. Purdey herself was sitting on the examination table. There was no sign of….who? Oh, yes. Gambit. He'd been there, she was certain of it, right before she passed out. He must have brought her here.

"Do you know where you are?" the nurse asked, watching Purdey's bleary features with concern.

Purdey tried nodding, but stopped almost immediately when her head screamed its protest. "Yes," she confirmed, putting her fingers to her temples. "Hospital, surgery, somewhere."

"Good." The nurse sounded pleased. "What year is it?"

"1977."

"Excellent. Do you recall how you came to be here?"

Purdey furrowed her brow. It was all a bit fuzzy. She remembered the Ministry, the corridor, Steed and Gambit, driving…and the tree. "My car," she said finally, brief images flashing before her mind. "I was in my car. Felt dizzy. I must have passed out. Lost control. I crashed." The memories were settling down now, solidifying. She could see the tree, could remember slamming her foot on the brake with the last of her strength before surrendering to the darkness. "I was in a car accident. That's why I'm here."

There was no affirmation this time. Purdey felt a sliver of fear, and turned her head as quickly as she dared to face the nurse. "Wasn't I?" she asked, desperate for reassurance.

The nurse shook her head, her previously-jolly features now grave. "I'm afraid you're wrong there. You were onstage, I'm told. Took a few too many steps back. Fell off the edge, hit your head."

"My head?" Purdey repeated, reaching up to touch her cranium. She found a bump, but that wasn't the most worrying thing. She also found hair. Long hair. Well past her shoulders. She moved to touch her forehead. No bangs. This wasn't right.

"My hair," she whispered fearfully, plunging both hands into the locks and drawing out strands that were impossibly long. "It's…different."

"Oh yes, dear," the nurse soothed, patting her arm. "I'm afraid we had to take it out of that elaborate pin-up of yours, so we could examine your head. It was a French twist or something of the like."

Purdey wasn't worried about style, just why it was there. "How long have I been unconscious?" Maybe she'd been in a coma. For years. And it had grown out. That could explain it.

"Just over an hour, dear."

"I see." Maybe it was a wig. Had Gambit put a wig on her before taking her in? Why? And why was she in a civilian hospital? The nurse definitely didn't have security clearance. Surely the Ministry would be the best place for Gambit to bring her. Unless they'd thought she was too badly injured to make it to the Ministry's medical centre in time. Was that it? It didn't explain why the nurse was under the impression she had fallen off a stage, though. That didn't make sense at all. Something was wrong here, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. And if that meant playing along with the cover that had been given to her, then she would. Gambit or Steed or _someone_ would surely be able to explain what was going on just as soon she was able to talk to them. The sooner the better.

"You wouldn't happen know who admitted me, would you?" she asked the nurse, still fiddling with her hair. It didn't _feel_ like a wig. It felt worryingly real.

"You were admitted by ambulance, straight from the theatre, dear. But there is a young man in the waiting room, arrived shortly after you were admitted. Your husband."

Purdey's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. _Husband?_ What was Mike playing at? If he thought she was going to play house when her head felt like it was going to split in two, he had another think coming. But that did sound like the sort of cover Mike would use. He was probably having a good laugh about it right now, waiting for her to come out and play adoring Mr. Gambit. The man's sense of humour was intolerable sometimes.

Assuming he knew she was all right. If she _was_ all right.

"You say I was on a stage," she asked suddenly, remembering the nurse's explanation. "Doing what?"

The nurse shrugged. "I'm not the one to ask. Never was one for the ballet, no offence."

Purdey smiled to indicate none was taken, but in reality she was worried. She hadn't been onstage in years—well, not counting that bit of tap-dancing against Ranson/Juventor, but that really wasn't the same thing. Why on earth would Gambit or Steed bring her dancing career up as part of a cover story? It all seemed much too complicated for something as simple as a car accident. Her head was starting to ache with all the questions. She needed some answers soon.

"My, er, husband?" she said slowly, pressing her fingers to her temples to ward off the headache. "I'd like to see him." _And beat the living daylights out of him if he thinks for one second I'm going to kiss him and call him 'darling.'_

"Well, if you're certain you feel up to it…" The nurse looked a bit hesitant, but Purdey flashed her most charming smile, and the nurse sighed and nodded, helped her up and out the door.

The waiting room wasn't terribly crowded, maybe half a dozen people in all. Purdey scanned them quickly as the nurse walked her down the corridor, but not one was tall and slim enough to be Gambit. None of them was built quite right to be Steed, either. In fact, there was only one man between thirty and fifty in the whole place, standing with his back to her, and his hair was brown. Purdey was about to ask the nurse where her so-called 'husband' had gone, but the woman was steering her purposefully forward, toward the brown-haired man. He turned as she approached, and flashed her a warm smile. Purdey nearly fainted.

"Darling," he said.

"Larry!"


	5. Waking the Dead

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Well, clearly my hopes for regular updates weren't fulfilled. I realise it's been almost a month since the last chapter, but I'm afraid I was waylaid by various other writing projects. Those are all finished, though, and this fic is my priority writing project now. I don't know how regular the updates will be during the rest of the summer, though. It is summer, after all! But I am going to try and keep them on more of a schedule. Rewrites are harder than writing something from scratch in a lot of ways, and can take a lot of time to do halfway decent. But there are some scenes I want to do which I think will be worth it.

Anyway, this update is fairly short, but mainly I'm trying to draw attention to the fact that this fic is still active. Hopefully you're all still reading. Until next time!

* * *

Purdey squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, hoping the man would be gone, that it the head injury was wreaking havoc with her visual cortex. But a cautious peek revealed that he was still there, only now he was fixing her with a slightly worried expression.

"Purdey? Darling?" he tried, as Purdey backed away from him, right into the nurse who had followed her out of the examination room. He was clearly bemused as to why Purdey was so shocked at his presence, brow creased and mouth downturned. He started toward her, matching each backward step with one of his own. "Are you all right?"

Purdey didn't answer, just gaped at him. There he was, larger than life, all in uniform, occasionally flashing a reassuring version of that smile that used to make her go weak at the knees. _Used to_, she reminded herself. _Not anymore. Just the way you don't breathe. __**Not anymore**__. _This couldn't be happening. Larry was dead. She'd seen Gambit shoot him. She'd seen the body. There was no way he could have survived. Gambit's shots always found their mark.

The heart.

He clearly wanted her to say something, anything, but she couldn't find the breath, let alone the words. What do you say to a ghost?

Thankfully, the nurse stepped in on her behalf.

"We've examined her for serious injury," she told Larry, patting Purdey comfortingly on the shoulder as she did so, "but nothing turned up on our scans. She doesn't seem to remember the accident, but that's not surprising. No abnormalities in the pupil, but there is a small bump on the head. The doctor has refilled her prescription as requested, but he suggests that she not take any sort of sedative for a day or two, just in case it masks a serious symptom of the head injury. Oh, and I'd advise you to keep an eye on her for the next few days. Anything odd, bring her back in."

Purdey was only half-listening to the nurse's spiel. She had managed to locate her left hand, and was studying the wedding and engagement rings occupying it with a sort of horrified fascination. This wasn't right. Larry was _dead_. They never got married. She'd moved on, gotten a new job. She didn't dance. She kicked people about and delved through files and worked out puzzles and drove a motorcycle and read the Sunday paper at Steed's with Gambit and—

_Boat._

Boat? Where had that come from? But there it was. A single word, one syllable, suspended in a sea of questions and jumbled memories. No, not jumbled. They were clear enough, but they weren't matching up with what her eyes were telling her. Larry was dead. But he was here. And Steed and Gambit weren't.

Larry nodded thoughtfully at the nurse, taking in Purdey's shell-shocked expression. "She looks a bit flustered," he noted, watching her gape at her rings. "Is that a side-effect? Concussion?"

The nurse nodded. "Likely. But the best thing is for her to be around the people who care for her, so that she feels secure. I'm sure she'll be fine shortly."

_Like hell I will, _Purdey thought to herself, still staring at the ring. _Run your tests again, because I'm _**not** _fine. I'm hallucinating visually and aurally, and so are you if you can see him. We're both mad!_

"But as I said," the nurse went on, "if she doesn't seem to snap out of it soon, she should be taken straight back to hospital."

"Right," Larry agreed, nodding his thanks to the nurse. "I'll take good care of her." He took a few more steps toward Purdey, who was too distracted by her rings and the word "boat" echoing in her mind to try and run away. It was only when reached out and took her arm that Purdey's head snapped up and she found herself staring into a pair of grey eyes. Larry smiled reassuringly, and the eyes followed suit. "Your parents are here, darling," he said, in a warm, soothing tone. "They're terribly worried about you, so I think it would be best if we joined them."

"My parents?" Purdey repeated dazedly, too shocked by Larry's sudden return from the grave to flinch away from his touch as he guided her down a corridor.

"Yes. I was with your father when I got the news. Isn't like you at all to be so clumsy onstage, but Susanna did say you seemed distracted."

"Distracted?" Purdey murmured. _Susanna. Susanna was in the ballet with me, but she went to Paris a month before I left. Didn't she?_

"Mmm, absent," Larry confirmed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Something troubling you, darling?"

_Yes, I'm married to a dead man and my hair appears to have taken on a life of its own._ But she told him "No" instead.

Her mother was waiting worriedly in the corridor, and Purdey felt a wash of relief as soon as she saw her. Acacia looked the way she should. Slight, fine-boned, blonde hair pinned up untidily, large green eyes bright with worry. Purdey sighed in relief. At least her mother was consistent with how she looked in the real world. Feeling as though she were on solid ground for the first time since she had woken up, Purdey broke away from Larry, dashing over to envelope the older woman in a hug.

"Are you all right, dear?" her mother asked immediately in her smooth, cultured tones, stroking Purdey's hair tenderly and locating the bump in the process. "Oh, my, that's quite the lump you've got."

"Mum," was all she got in reply. Purdey had her face buried deep in Acacia's shoulder, and was now basking in the familiar warmth and scent.

"The doctor seems to think she'll be fine," Larry informed. "She's a bit shaken, though."

"I can imagine," Acacia commented, holding Purdey at arm's length. "Well, your pupils look all right, dear, but you have a concussion, I suppose? Never mind. I'll have your father take a look at you. He ought to be an expert considering how many blows he's taken to the head."

Purdey's brow furrowed in puzzlement for what felt like the thousandth time since she had woken up. "Elliot?" she managed as her mother continued to search her scalp for more damage. "What does the Bishop know about blows to the head?"

It was Acacia's turn to frown. "Nothing, dear."

"But he's here?"

"No," Acacia said slowly, as though she were trying to make Purdey understand. "We didn't think you were quite serious enough to require last rites."

"But you said my father was here," Purdey persisted. Her head was starting to hurt. Her mother was talking at cross-purposes. If her father was here, that meant the Bishop. Who else could it be?

"And here I am," came a long-absent, but ultimately familiar, voice. Purdey felt her heart stop. It _couldn't_ be, it really couldn't. If Larry was impossible, then _he_ was on par with urban legends and UFOs. But that voice… She turned slowly, not even daring to breathe, bracing herself for what she knew couldn't be, but was hoping for nonetheless. The first thing she was a pair of blue eyes, identical in shade to hers, warm as the smile spreading across his face.

"I hear you've been taking after your old man," Jonathan Bryde told his daughter, coming to stand by Acacia. "Your mother tells me it's all down to my side of the family."

"Dad," Purdey whispered, and found herself hugging him tight before her brain caught up to what her body was doing. She could smell the cologne, and felt twelve again. "Dad," she repeated into his chest. "I thought you were gone forever."

"I'll admit I was in China a bit longer than I planned, but forever's pushing it a tad," Jonathan replied with a familiar chuckle.

Purdey could feel tears sliding down her cheeks. He felt so real, so warm, so _alive._ She wanted to tell him everything, everything that had happened in the decade since she had lost him. She tipped her eyes up to meet his. His eyes. Her eyes. "No, you don't understand. I mean—"

It was then that the nurse returned, complete with a bag for the prescriptions. "The sedatives," she told the startled Purdey, handing her the paper bag. "My goodness, you look overwrought. I think you had better go home and have a bit of a lie-down."

"But I don't want—" Purdey protested, looking to her father for support. She didn't want to go home. She wanted to go with him. This was all strange and wrong, but he, he was one hallucination she didn't mind seeing. "Please, don't go," she pleaded, grabbing a handful of his lapel, imploring him not to leave her with this ghost of a man. But to her dismay, her father shook his head.

"Doctor's orders, Colt," he said with a smile. She felt a wash of well-being at the nickname. Her father had called her that both to keep the gun theme, and because her long-leggedness as a youth made her more than a bit reminiscent of a young horse. "You need to be able to rest without your mother and me talking both your ears off. We can talk another day." He looked up, nodded to Larry. "Take good care of her, Doomer," he ordered, with a hint of gruffness. Purdey frowned at that, but when her father returned his gaze to her, there was nothing but kindness in it.

"Of course," Larry vowed, taking Purdey's arm again. "I always do." He waved to his in-laws, before pulling Purdey after him. She let her feet drag, watching her father as long as possible, until he was out of sight. It was only then that she noticed Larry's hand, shook it off.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own," she told him, and Larry blinked in surprise, but led the way to the car. Purdey didn't especially want to go with him, but she didn't appear to have any alternative at the moment. No sign of Steed or Gambit. And she wanted to know where this Larry had come from. Who knew what he was. With everything that had gone on the past week, it was entirely possible someone was using him to convince her that Larry had survived. But her father—how did she explain that away?


	6. Plans and Old Dreams

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yes, I've made it under the two-week deadline. That's the schedule I'd like to keep. Another shortish chapter, but sometimes the break feels right and a longer one would ruin that. Purdey tries to get her bearings. Unfortunately, that proves to be rather difficult.

Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. Until then, hope you enjoy!

* * *

The trip was made in silence. It took Purdey a moment to recognize the route, but that was because last time she had traveled it, she had been on a motorcycle, her eyes too blinded by tears to take in her surroundings in any detail. Besides, she had taken a detour near the end, leaving the road to crash through the fence surrounding the property. And that was all there had been at her destination—property. Land, occupied by nothing more than Larry Doomer and a rocket. But that had been when the world still made sense, when things were as they should be, even if they were not at their most pleasant. But here, here there were no rules, no expectation she could be sure would be met. If Larry was alive, there was no guarantee anything else would be as she remembered it.

She was right.

What awaited her at the end of the road was not an empty field, but a house. And not just any house. _The_ house. The dreamhouse. She gasped in spite of herself. It was just as she had imagined—huge and grand and romantic, with the large accommodating garage, and the endless beds of flowers, and the gravel-strewn circular drive. And when she stepped inside the large oak door, it all fit. The entrance way opened immediately into the living room. And, true to form, the drawing room had two big bay windows, and there was a loveseat in between. Purdey stood before them in awe. They were beautiful, and romantic, and…vaguely unsettling. Those windows had been a dream, but an old dream. A dead dream. A dream she thought had been buried away with the other upsetting aspects of her life. But old dreams seemed to have new life here. Just like the people.

A soft wet thing nudged her hand, and Purdey broke out of her reverie. She looked down and discovered a moist black ball attached to a mound of grey hair. As she watched, a pink tongue poked out from below the black lump, and panted at her happily. "Great big woofily dog," Purdey said dazedly, reaching out to pat his head. Another old wish brought to life.

"Edmund's happy to have you back," Larry commented, walking up from behind her with a smile on his face.

Purdey frowned in bemusement. "Edmund?"

"The dog," Larry explained, smile fading slightly as the area between his eyes creased. "Don't you remember?"

"Oh yes," Purdey lied, scratching the canine behind the ears. "Edmund."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, Purdey patting the dog, Larry watching her with an air of uncertainty. He clearly didn't quite know how to handle a Purdey with faint amnesia, if he really believed that was all it was. Purdey didn't intend to let him in on the fact that she was had endured much more than a lump on the head. She didn't trust him back at home, and she saw no reason to start now. At the very least he'd likely commit her if he heard what she had to say about her other life. It was Larry who finally broke the silence.

"Do you want something for dinner?" he asked, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "I mean, Susanna told me you skipped lunch to practice instead, and then you had your accident. You must be famished."

Purdey was, in fact, feeling a bit peckish, but the idea of sitting across from Larry at the dinner table was too much to handle in her addled state. So she shook her head. "All the excitement," she excused. "I don't think it would stay down."

"Oh." Larry looked disappointed. Clearly he didn't know how else to engage her. Purdey wondered why, exactly, he was so nervous around her. Was it just her behaviour, or had something gone on with…with 'his' Purdey before she had her accident? Either way, Purdey didn't want to stick around and chat.

"I think I'll turn in early," Purdey said. "I'm rather tired."

"Yes, of course," came the reply. "I'll be making myself a sandwich. You go along without me."

Purdey nodded uncertainly, made her way into the hallway, tried to remember where Larry had slotted in the bedroom when they were making their plans all those years ago. She climbed the twisting staircase, which, again, looked just as she'd pictured, and found herself in a long upstairs hall. The bedroom was to the right, as far as she remembered. Good thing her memory seemed to be serving her—Larry would have sent her back to the infirmary if he thought she had forgotten the layout of her own home. _Their_ home. Purdey shuddered. She hadn't wanted to think of having anything with Larry for—

She stopped suddenly, and retraced her steps to the open door she'd passed only a moment before. Tentatively, she peered inside. There it was—the nursery. All decorated in yellows and greens. Neutral colours, Purdey noticed. She took a tentative step inside, then another, marveling at the set up—changing table, rocking horse, a chair for late-night feedings. She ran her finger along the edge of the crib. It was clean and the wood well-polished--kept up, but in a hopeful way, not one that implied use. That meant no children. She breathed a sigh of relief. Children were the last thing this nightmare needed. She didn't want children. She hadn't found anyone to have them with. Except…

_Boat.__ Lights._

Purdey gripped the crib for support as the pain lanced through her brain. Images flashed in her mind. Faint ones, dancing in and out of reach, slipping away even as she tried to grasp hold of them. And then they were gone, taking the pain with them. Purdey slumped against the crib, gasping, shoulders heaving as though she'd been in a race. It took a few minutes for her to recover. When she did she fled the room, slamming the door behind her, dashing for the bedroom.

It was as she had planned it, too. Right down to the big stuffed teddy bear on the armchair, and the diaphanous curtains, and the rich mauve bedspread. She threw open the closet, dug out the first shapeless nightgown she could find, all the while desperately trying not to look at the Air Force uniforms hanging next to the dresses. There was an en suite bathroom, also as planned. She shut herself inside, locked the door, turned on the shower so Larry wouldn't hear her slap her palms against the mirror, at the woman with the girly make-up and the long hair—the fairy princess. No. She wasn't like that anymore. She was too tough, had seen too much. She was an agent. She had to remember that. She had joined her father's line of work. Even though it had killed him.

_But it ha__sn't,_ a little voice in her head pointed out. Purdey shook her had.

No. No. It has. I'm sure of that.

_Are you__?_

Yes. Larry's dead. Dad's dead.

_But you saw them. All this—it seems so real._

So did the car accident.

_Proves nothing._

It does. I remember it. I woke up for a moment. Gambit. Gambit was there. And Steed.

_Then where are they__? If you're so certain of your friends, why haven't they come for you?_

I don't know. Maybe they don't know. Where I am, I mean. Maybe I was kidnapped. Maybe they're unconscious. Or hurt. Or. Or.

"They must exist," she told her reflection. Did she say it out loud? Was she talking to herself now?

"You wouldn't make them up. Why would you do something like that?"

_To escape the reality._

**What** reality? This isn't real.

_You don't know that. All y__ou know is that something's wrong. With Larry._

I should say so. He's back from the dead.

_Something else.__ You can feel it. So you've invented a hero._

I don't need one.

_That's not what you thought in the field._

"Stop it!" Purdey screamed at her reflection, kicking the dustbin hard, scattering rubbish all over the bathroom floor. She sank onto the loo in despair, cradling her face in her hands. "Stop it. Please. Get me out of here," she begged the walls.

She looked up after a moment, cheeks stained with tears, and noticed a box among the discarded tissues and bits of floss. She stood and retrieved it, read the label. Fertility drugs.

Oh, hell. She wasn't.

She scrabbled through the rest of the rubbish. There were sanitary napkin wrappers strewn among the debris. And the trash would be emptied weekly, so they had to be recent. So she couldn't be. She breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know what she would have done if she was.

But she was trying.

Shaking, Purdey stripped down and climbed in the shower. She needed to think of nothing for a bit.


	7. Visions

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Finally, a longer chapter, and closer together to boot! Brilliant! I'm trying to push this fic along. Poor Purdey's trying to hang on to reality, but no one's making it easy for her. Hope you enjoy!  


* * *

Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. Until then, hope you enjoy!

Larry was stretched out on the bed when Purdey came out of the bathroom. He gave her one of his suggestive little smiles, but it didn't do what it had for her all those years ago. And there was no way she was going anywhere near that bed.

"Feeling better, darling?" he asked her, propping himself up on his elbows. "If not, I'll put it right." He crooked a finger and motioned for her to come to him.

Purdey stiffened instinctively and backed away, edging around the perimeter of the room until she reached the chest at the foot of the bed, dug out the spare pillow and blanket that she somehow knew would be there. Larry furrowed his brow in puzzlement.

"I'm sleeping downstairs," she said in response to the unspoken question. "I can open the window. More air. Better circulation. Better for my head."

"But we can open the window up here," Larry protested, watching her movements with growing apprehension. "There's no need for you to—"

"I'd rather go downstairs," Purdey insisted, a little sharply. Larry looked taken aback at her tone. She'd never spoken to him like that before—at least, not in her real life. She suspected that was also the case here. Either way, Larry gave up, slumping back on the bed.

"Well, if that's what you want…"

"_It is_," Purdey emphasized. "Good-night, Larry." And she swept out.

Downstairs, Purdey laid her pillow and blanket out on the couch, carefully tucking the blanket in on one side to create a makeshift bed. Smoothing out the cloth, she gave it a once-over. Satisfied it would do the job, she turned to her next task. She didn't know what exactly was going on, or why, but for the moment that didn't matter. All she had to focus on was her goal: getting home, out of this…this…madness. And the best way to do that was to seek out her allies. She needed to find Gambit and Steed. They were the _real_ people. They were the ones who would understand. Larry couldn't be genuine—she was sure of that. She needed to find someone genuine, as soon as possible. Before her mind started to go.

But first, she needed to find a phone book. She searched the living area's storage spaces, finally coming up with the multiple volumes that made up London's listings. She sat on the couch and flipped through. She searched for Steed's name first. She flicked through the 'S' section. No listing for Steed, but that wasn't surprising. Agents didn't make a habit of listing their numbers for any foreign spy to copy down. That much, at least, hadn't changed. She would have to find another way to contact him. Gambit would probably be the same. But a quick search in the 'G's revealed, to her surprise, a listing for Gambit, Michael A., who seemed to still be residing at the address she remembered. That was comforting, at least. She would be able to locate Gambit tomorrow. But there was someone else she needed to visit first.

The listings under 'B' went on and on, and Purdey's fingers trembled as she turned each page. If she found him in here it would be one fewer thing she could deny, one more way this new reality would be easier to accept. Because if he was alive…What would she give? How much would she sacrifice, if it meant he would stay? She found the right page, ran her finger down the column, stopped dead at a line halfway down. There. Bryde, Jonathan. At the same address he had lived at when she was young. The last place he lived—before he died. It was the same house she had been in when the men had come, had broken the news about her father. Her mother had moved out when she married the Bishop, not wanting to live her life with memories hanging over her head. But that whole saga hadn't happened. Not here. Purdey swallowed hard, closed the book with a snap and stowed it away. It was too much. She needed to sleep. She couldn't think about it now or her brain would explode.

But even as she lay down to sleep, she couldn't help but wonder. Her father. Alive. It wasn't possible. He couldn't be real. He could never be real.

Could he?

She slipped into sleep.

***

"_Just point the gun, and pull the trigger, and fire the whole clip, just to be sure."_

_Purdey backed away from the man, shaking her head. "He can't," she whispered. "He can't be gone."_

_The smile was unpleasant and eerie on the face she knew so well. "He can," said Terry Walton._

Purdey woke up.

She sat bolt upright on the couch, breathing hard, taking in her surroundings. It took her a moment to remember that this nightmare was encapsulated by another. She swung her legs onto the floor and let out a long breath, tried to tell herself that Gambit wasn't gone, that he was in London, right where she remembered him, and that she'd see him soon.

Just like her father.

_This doesn't make any sense_.

She rubbed a hand tiredly over her eyes, and was surprised at what she found when she looked again.

"Any progress?" Steed's voice. No. It couldn't be. She turned, very, very slowly, to her right. Steed was seated next to her on the couch, bowler and brolly in his left hand. He looked grim.

"No," came the reply. "Not since her heart rate sped up about an hour ago. It's been stable since then." Purdey heard the second voice to her left. She whirled around to find Gambit, one ankle on his knee, a paperback in hand. He turned to look at Purdey, and she just about cried with relief.

"Mike," she said hopefully. "You're back."

"Her eyes are open," Steed pointed out.

"They do that occasionally," Gambit said with a sigh, eyes locked on hers. "The nurses say it's a reflex action. She can't actually see anything."

"Of course I can," Purdey countered angrily. "I'm looking right at you! Are you blind?"

"I see." The conversation lulled for a moment, then Steed pointed to Gambit's paperback. "Is that any good?"

Gambit blinked, and held it up for Steed to see. Purdey looked too. _On Her Majesty's Secret Service._ "You've read it before," she commented.

"I've read it before," Gambit said, and Purdey rolled her eyes in exasperation. "But I've been stuck on page six for the last half hour." He rubbed his eyes in obvious exhaustion.

"You should get home, rest," Steed advised. "You've been here for hours, and it's not as though you've had much sleep this past week."

Purdey looked back at Steed. He was turned her way, but his expression was such that he seemed to be looking through her rather than at her. "If you're going to talk about me as though I'm not here," she snapped, "you might at least say something about what's happening to me."

Gambit shook his head. "I can't leave her. I've already let her down once. I owe it to her to stay."

Purdey waved a hand in front of each of their faces simultaneously. Neither man seemed to notice. "I know you two go over my head sometimes," she muttered, crossing her arms angrily, "but this is ridiculous."

"Can I get you some coffee, then?" Steed wanted to know. Gambit smiled gratefully.

"Please."

"Back in a moment." Steed stood, wandered out of the living room and off down the hall, out of sight. Purdey was left with Gambit.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked. "Mike?" She reached out to tap his shoulder, but her hand passed straight through him. She blinked in surprise.

"I must be dreaming," she whispered. But then Gambit put down his book, and looked at her. Really looked at her. And Purdey couldn't help but look back.

"They say I'm supposed to talk to you," he told her. "Keeps the brain engaged, makes it more likely you'll wake up." He sighed. "Not the same when you can't answer back, though. I've had to fill in all your jumps in logic on my own, and my brain's not built for it." He smiled sadly. "And I'm not used to the quiet, Purdey-girl. I've never wanted to hear about Walter Houston so badly in my life."

Purdey smiled back, even though she knew he likely couldn't see her.

"But I'll keep trying," he told her, reaching for her hand. It didn't pass through hers as she had through him. Instead she felt the solid warmth, and the smooth metal of the ring on his little finger. "Because I know you can't be quiet for long." He brushed away a strand of her hair, and she could hear a catch in his voice. "Don't leave me to finish my own sentences, Purdey-girl," he begged. And then there was a burst of noise, and there was the…

_Boat. Lights.__ Rocking._

And when the fireworks behind her eyelids ceased, he was gone, and she was lying down again, as though she'd never been awake. She shot up to look for Gambit. Her hands grasped at empty air, but the space on the couch he had occupied was empty. She regarded it mournfully for a moment, before shaking herself out of her daze. Right. She had to get herself back. No one was going to do it for her. And she'd need sleep if she was going to be able to think straight. So she lay back and tried to follow her own advice.

But she had never felt so alone.

***

When Purdey woke the next morning, Larry was busy in the kitchen. She could smell the kippers and tea wafting down the hall. Larry wasn't a bad cook—not a gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, but his food was, for the most part, edible, and, at times, surprisingly good. Purdey found herself climbing off the couch to follow the aromas before her brain kicked in and she remembered that she wasn't meant to be here and Larry wasn't meant to be alive. This meant the sudden sight of him at the stove, working busily away, gave her a bit of a start. Larry looked up as the kitchen door swung shut behind her with a dull thunk, but Purdey felt as though she'd been thrown in a cell and the bolts had been drawn. She didn't want to be in the same room as Larry, let alone have breakfast with him. She still wasn't certain what he was, but after her rather vivid "dream" the night before she was certain that he couldn't be real—he was a fiction, hers or someone else's, she wasn't sure, but any incarnation of Larry, regardless of whether he was genuine or not, was not particularly welcome after the events of the past week. But Larry didn't need to know she had suspicions.

"Darling," Larry greeted cheerfully, looking up from where he was sliding the kippers onto a plate. "You were dead to the world when I checked on you this morning. How are you feeling?"

"Um, fine," Purdey replied, reaching up to touch the bump on her head. It was still a little tender, but she didn't have a headache. In fact, physically she did feel fine. It was everything outside her that wasn't holding up so well.

"Perfect," Larry enthused, picking up the plate and bringing it over to her. "You'll feel even better once you've had breakfast. After all, you've got to keep your strength up. Never know when you might have to start eating for two." He winked, and leaned forward to kiss her, but Purdey diverted him by looking down and taking the plate instead.

"Well, I had better eat it before it gets cold, then, mustn't I?" she said through a forced smile, sitting down at the table and tucking in. Larry watched her with a slight frown, clearly puzzled as to the reason for standoffishness. Purdey realized this would constitute suspicious behaviour, and she wanted to avoid that. "I'm still a bit off," she told Larry through a mouthful of kippers. They really were good, and the taste was incredibly vivid. Just the way he had always cooked them. "Sorry. It might take me some time to get back to my old self."

"As long as it doesn't take too long," Larry murmured, returning to the stove. "You're sure you don't need to go back to the doctor?"

"Quite sure," Purdey said firmly. "All I need is some time to recover."

"Ah, now that's the first really sensible thing you've said. So you won't be going to the ballet?"

"No," Purdey agreed, sensing an opening. "I think it would be better if I took it easy. I know. I think I'll go see mum and dad. After all, he's just come back from China." That had been what Jonathan had said. Clearly he'd been absent for some time. "I may as well pay them a visit. In fact, I think I'll ring them now, see if they're in." She pushed back her chair and made her way out of the kitchen and toward the living area. On the way down the hall she passed a half-open door she hadn't noticed on her way to the kitchen, so distracted was she by the smells emanating from Larry's culinary creations. From what she could see, it seemed to be an office—desk and chair, filing cabinet, bookshelf. And on the desk, a phone. Purdey started to push the door inward, intent on using the instrument, but suddenly an arm reached across and blocked her path, pulling the door closed in front of her. She turned in surprise to find Larry, smiling tightly at her.

"Now darling, you know the rule. My office is my domain. You have the whole rest of the house to play with. You know how men need a corner of their own, keep their sanity."

Purdey could tell he was trying to keep his tone light, but she didn't like the smile, which had morphed into more of a grimace, nor the way his eyes didn't match the rest of his expression or tone. "Of course," she said levelly, trying not to show fear nor suspicion. "I don't want to interfere. I'll use the one in the drawing room."

Purdey's mother, Acacia, answered the phone, and from the noise in the background, Purdey could tell the older woman had company, likely some of the local ladies. Nonetheless, she welcomed the idea of Purdey coming to visit, particularly when her daughter made it clear it was her father she needed to see. Purdey was told she would be expected in the next hour and a half. It didn't leave her much time to get ready, but she was glad for the excuse to get out as quickly as possible.

"I'm going now," she told Larry as soon as she'd hung up.

Larry looked gobsmacked. "Now? But you haven't finished your breakfast."

"I don't have much of an appetite. If I get hungry, I'm sure mum will fix me something." Purdey was already making for the stairs.

"B-but your head. Are you sure you should be going out alone?"

"I'll take transit. If something happens I won't lose control of the car, and someone will be there to call an ambulance. Really, Larry, I'm fine. I just need to get out for a bit. I'm sure you can find something to do in the meantime."

Larry swallowed, and for an instant his eyes were dark. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I suppose I can."

Purdey's paranoia about her so-called husband was beginning to morph into full-fledged panic. She took the stairs two at a time and didn't stop running until she had the bedroom door closed and locked firmly behind her. She wouldn't let him in. Not now. Not ever.

She hoped.


	8. Two Conversations

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Very long chapter this time around, and not too long of a wait. A good combination! Purdey talks to a couple of familiar people in her life, but neither conversation goes quite the way she imagined it. Hope everyone's enjoying the story thus far. See you next time!

* * *

Purdey chose a light-blue knee-length dress with long sleeves and a grey overcoat and boots from the closet. Her closet, she supposed. Technically. But it didn't feel like hers, the clothes not quite in line with her current sartorial preferences. Still, the dress did the job, and after much fussing with the newfound long hair, she managed to pin it back into something that was reasonably practical. If she ended up doing anything too energetic, she knew that would change, but at the moment there was nothing else for it.

When Purdey finally left the bedroom and peeked over the second floor railing, Larry was nowhere to be seen. She hurried down the stairs quickly, not in the mood for another encounter with her long-dead past. She could hear Larry's voice echoing down the hall, likely coming from his office. He was talking on the phone, obviously. Purdey decided not to wait for him to finish and hurried outside, where the cab she had called before her shower was waiting for her. The instant she gave the driver the address and the cab pulled away from the house, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Away from Larry was good. Toward her parents was even better. She breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, now she was getting somewhere.

***

"Purdey, dear, so good to see you. Come in, come in." Acacia Bryde greeted her only daughter with a hug before ushering her inside the two-storey London townhouse. She took Purdey's coat and hung it in the familiar old closet, the one Purdey had known from ages 16 to 22. The one Larry had hung _his_ coat in when she'd brought him home to meet her mother. She found herself checking automatically for the nick in the bottom right-hand corner of the brown oak door where she had accidentally kicked it while wearing heels. She'd been partial to ballet flats at the time, and the spiky heels had taken some getting used to. She couldn't have known that one day she would make a habit of sprinting in the things. The nick was there. Purdey swallowed hard.

"Well, now, dear, it's so lovely to see you. You've made yourself so scarce of late."

Purdey snapped out of her reverie and turned to look at her mother. "Have I?"

"Of course you have. I haven't been able to catch more than a few minutes of you for months. But then I know you're very busy with the ballet and Larry. I only hope I'll get some grandchildren for my patience."

"Is dad in?" Purdey asked quickly, not wanting to linger on the subject of children with Larry, particularly where her mother was involved. There was no way she could even begin to explain to her that Larry was not really her husband, that she had no memory of marrying him. At least, not right now.

"Oh, yes, dear, he's waiting for you in the conservatory. You made his day saying you'd come down for a visit. As I said, we've seen so little of you of late." A burst of laughter from the vicinity of the living room drew Acacia's attention away. "I'm so sorry, dear, but I do have the ladies in, and I hate being a neglectful host."

"It's all right," Purdey assured, smiling. "You had better get back. I can find my way to dad on my own."

"Of course, dear. Run along." Acacia turned and hurried off in the direction of the living room. Purdey, meanwhile, faced the opposite way, squared her shoulders, and started her journey toward another ghost of the past, albeit one that she was happy to see resurrected.

The conservatory was small, a sort of glorified greenhouse with places to sit among the foliage. Purdey had come here often to soak up the warmth of the sun, and inhale the fragrance of the roses her mother loved so, something she had in common with the Bishop. But the Bishop had never entered the picture here. Her mother had no need to remarry when her first husband was still alive and well. And it was that man Purdey saw when she entered the conservatory, sitting on one of the old benches her mother had purchased from an antique shop and restored one spring a million years ago. He was reading a novel, greying reddish-brown hair flopping slightly onto his forehead, blue eyes concealed behind a pair of reading glasses, thin lips pursed at the content of the book. Purdey could have stared at him forever, remembering the way he looked, the way he sat, the way he held the book and crossed his legs and turned the pages. But Jonathan Bryde was a spy, first and foremost, and he knew when he was being watched. He glanced up and saw Purdey lurking in the doorway, lips stretching into a smile.

"Colt."

That voice. So warm, so inviting. It wrapped around her, comforting her, protecting her against this strange world. She had missed him so much.

Jonathan removed his glasses and set his book down on the bench beside him. "Well, you're not going to talk to me from over there, are you? Come on, have a seat." He patted the bench beside him, and Purdey found herself hurrying over to accept the invitation.

"Dad," she whispered, hugging him tight and breathing in his scent. It always made her feel better. Safe. And it was no different here, even if this world was a dream. Dreams could be good, and she was determined to enjoy this one.

"Here now." Jonathan held her at arm's length, bright blue eyes—her eyes—searching her face. "Are you all right? How's your head?"

"A bit tender," Purdey admitted, pulling away reluctantly. "But I don't think there's any lasting damage."

"That's good to hear. I don't want anything damaging happening to my girl." He touched her head and felt around until he found the bump, winced dramatically. "That's quite the knock, though. I should know. I've had my share."

"I know you have, but I like you anyway," Purdey teased, feeling herself smile for the first time in what seemed like ages. It was so good to see him again. "But I'm all right, really. It's everything else that's…" Now that she was here, she didn't know quite how to put forward her request. If anyone got the wrong idea they'd think she was mad, and she'd be dragged off and committed or something equally terrible. She needed to tread carefully, even around her father. But the thing was, her father had always been the person she could trust to keep things quiet when she went to him for help, mainly because he trusted her enough to not interfere unless it was absolutely necessary. She was counting on that trust now.

"I'm glad to see you, dad," she began, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "Really, you have no idea how happy I am. But the main reason I came by was to ask a favour."

Jonathan nodded knowingly. "Ah, this will be what you telephoned me about?"

Purdey frowned. "Telephoned? When?"

"Yesterday, of course," Jonathan said in surprise. "You called me early in the morning saying we had to meet. Very urgent. You swore me to secrecy—not even your mother was to know. But then I suppose you've forgotten that, what with your crack on the head."

Purdey bit her lip. This was worrying. What had she—or, more correctly, some other Purdey—contacted her father for? "I didn't say what it was about?" she queried.

"I'm afraid not. It was all very mysterious." It was Jonathan's turn to frown. "Are you sure you're all right? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," Purdey said quickly. "Listen, I…I think I know what I wanted to talk to you about. I need you to arrange a meeting for me. I need you to get me clearance to go to the Ministry."

The frown deepened. "Ministry of what? Health?"

Purdey shook her head. "Not that sort of ministry," she told him. "_The _Ministry."

"Ah." Jonathan's face was impassive, but she knew behind the blue eyes the brain was working at lightning speed. "Can I ask why?"

"It's hard to explain." Understatement of the century, but it was the truth.

Jonathan sucked in a sharp breath, let it out slowly. "But it's important." It was a statement, not a question.

"Very."

"I thought as much. You wouldn't have asked otherwise. Who is it you want to see?"

"John Steed."

There was another sharp intake of breath. "That's going to be difficult."

"But you can manage it?"

"Colt, this is all a bit unusual." The blue eyes were uncertain. "You know I'd do anything for you, but this is a bit rich."

"I know it sounds strange, and I know you're probably wondering after my mental health, but I promise you, it's important. You're the only one I can trust just now. I just need you to do this for me, dad. Please."

"Does this have something to do with Larry?" Jonathan asked, seemingly out of the blue. Purdey blinked in surprise.

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling. And my feelings tend to be right." The blue eyes were intense. And dangerous. Purdey felt herself shrink inwardly. Her father had never been easy to anger, at least in his private life. She had no idea what he'd been like in the field, but she had a feeling she was getting a taste of it now.

"Not directly," Purdey said carefully, not certain what had set him off, but not wanting to exacerbate it any further. "At least, not as far as I know. But I need to talk to Steed first before I can say any more. I'd appreciate if you didn't mention any of this to Larry, though."

Jonathan sighed, scratched the back of his neck. "You really need me to do this?"

"Badly."

"Then you'll have your appointment. The ID will be at the desk. Just let me make a call."

Purdey smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

"Anything for you. Just promise me you'll take care and tell me what it's all about sometime. We should do it over lunch. I'll buy you some marshmallows for dessert."

She felt the tears spring to her eyes even as she smiled. "I'd like that."

***

Purdey rode the bus to the large grey building that was the Ministry, trying to gather her wits. She wondered if Steed and Gambit were looking for her, if the whole situation was some strange sort of plot by some unknown diabolical mastermind, if Larry and her father were real, or doubles. If she was being watched. She scanned the bus. No one was ducking suspiciously behind his newspaper or talking into his coat. All the same, she kept an eye out even as she got off at her stop and headed for her destination.

The Ministry building itself was unchanged, at least, which brought her a little comfort. There was something reassuring about mounting those familiar steps, so solid under her feet, not shifting into some weird sort of twilight zone at a moment's notice. When she pushed the door open, the interior was much the same—unchanged, looking just as it should this day in 1977. Purdey felt heartened. She strode across the lobby with fresh purpose.

There was a very formal, blonde secretary manning the front desk, a woman Purdey didn't recognize, but who was very efficient all the same. She had Purdey sign in while she double-checked Purdey's appointment, and soon located her visitor's pass, handing it to her even as she directed Purdey to take the lift up to the fourth floor--John Steed's office. Purdey was surprised to discover that Steed was in his office at that time of day, but she was much too thankful that she was finally going to see a familiar face that _wasn't_ back from the dead to question it. She thanked the receptionist and hurried over to catch the lift before it left without her.

Steed's office wasn't where she'd remembered it, which wasn't surprising considering the way things had been going. Purdey found herself going to the old location automatically, then righting herself when it turned up a Mr. David Frobisher's place of work instead. It was only then that she recalled the number the girl had told her, and she made her way down the maze of corridors to finally find herself at Steed's door. She knocked twice, and got a "Come in," for her trouble.

She couldn't believe what she saw when she opened the door. John Steed was at his desk, mounds of paperwork stacked around him. He was bent over some of said paperwork now, a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Purdey would've laughed at them if they were the only thing out of place. But the dark wavy hair had streaks of grey throughout, and the mouth was a tight, grim line. Too many wrinkles creased his features, and the grey eyes that rose to meet hers were devoid of life. But the worst part was that John Steed, although fairly mature by the time she had met him, looked simply old here. And tired. There was a sadness to the features, a total lack of the _joie de vivre_ that had survived despite years in the service. Here it had all caught up with him, and it showed. Purdey gaped at him from the doorway, trying to reconcile what she saw with what she knew. Steed looked back at her curiously, one eyebrow arched in interest.

"Mrs. Doomer?" The voice, at least, was more or less the same, perhaps a touch rougher. He rose slightly from his seat and reached out a hand. "Jonathan Bryde told me to expect you, although I'm not entirely certain why. You're his daughter, aren't you?"

Purdey regained her composure long enough to cross the room and take the hand, shake it. It was firm and dry, but not particularly friendly. "Yes. I take it we've never met before?" she asked sadly, her earlier feeling of optimism draining out of her shoes and into the floor.

Steed frowned, shook his head even as he lowered himself back into his chair. "No, we haven't. That's what took me by surprise. I assumed you knew that, considering you were the one who set up the meeting." He removed the reading glasses and set them on the desk.

"Well, I'm not exactly myself," Purdey explained, taking the seat Steed indicated. "I took a blow to the head recently, and I've ended up with my memories not quite matching up to the way things are. I need to find out what's going on so I can set myself straight. I thought you might be able to help."

"In what way?" Steed looked suspicious.

"You know," Purdey insisted, frustration bubbling up and overcoming despair. "You must know. Come on, Steed. There's something going on. You wouldn't miss something as big as this. You, me, the entire Ministry seem to have been drawn in. You can't honestly sit there and pretend that you've never seen me before."

"I can and I will because I haven't," Steed said calmly. "I'm sorry Mrs. Doomer."

"Sorry? Steed, you're wrong. I know our business is classified, but it's a bit ridiculous to deny things to me." She put both hands palm down on the table, leaned forward. "Are we bugged? Is that it? Or are you not really Steed? A double? Because if you were really Steed, you'd know that I work here. At the Ministry. With you, and so many others. Don't tell me you don't remember that?"

Steed raised an eyebrow. "You say you've _worked_ with me? I told you we'd never met."

"But I remember," Purdey insisted, slamming on hand on the desk, hard. "I _remember_ working quite closely with you, and you weren't chained to a desk for the most part, either. I remember you, and Merton, and Terry. And Gambit."

"Gambit?"

"Gambit. Mike Gambit. He's one of your agents, isn't he?"

Steed look of suspicion deepened. "There has never been an agent under my watch by that name," he said, very coldly. "Nor have you ever been in this building, let alone worked under me or anyone else in this department."

"But I remember," Purdey protested. "Could there be a plot? Could someone have done something, erased memories, brainwashing, I don't know?"

"I think you've been reading too many spy novels, Mrs. Doomer. Either that, or your father has supplied you with highly descriptive stories of his exploits, and your head injury has confused them for reality."

Purdey shook her head. "I don't think so. I definitely remember you. And you _weren't_ married to a desk. You were out in the field."

"I'm sorry," Steed told her, patience worn away. "I haven't been active in the field since 1972. I oversee operations. You must be mistaken."

"I—"

"I'm sorry," Steed repeated. "But I have a lot of work to do. I can't help you. I doubt anyone can. I'd suggest a therapist."

"I'm not mad," Purdey snapped, knowing she sounded defensive but unable to help it.

"Of course you aren't." But he didn't sound convinced. He was clearly humouring her more than anything, likely in the hope that she'd go away and let him carry on with his mounds of paperwork. "Good luck, Mrs. Doomer."

Purdey took the hint, and left in defeat.

She walked dejectedly into the lift and pressed the button for the first floor. The lift doors slid closed, and she watched the numbers illuminate, one after another, as the lift descended. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, trying to work out her next move.

The sudden shuddering stop of the lift brought her out of her daze. The entire compartment was instantly bathed in a bright red light. She glanced up at the indicator, and saw that the lift was caught between floors. Cursing her luck, Purdey reached for the emergency telephone, put it to her ear.

"Hello?" A series of rhythmic beeps greeted her. Purdey worked the connection lever impatiently. "Hello? I'm stuck. The lift's not working." The beeps continued. Purdey sighed. "Is anyone there?"

"Just us, Purdey." She froze. The voice hadn't come through the phone. It was _behind_ her. But she was alone in the lift. Wasn't she? Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned around.

There was Gambit, leaning casually against the back of the lift, arms crossed. And beside him, Steed. Not the Steed she had just left in the office. This was _the_ Steed, the Steed she had seen the night before. The right Steed. The Steed she remembered.

Purdey dropped the phone and screwed her eyes shut. What she was seeing wasn't possible. There was no way, _no way_ anyone, especially Steed, whom she'd left behind in the office, could be here, in this lift. But when she opened her eyes again, they were still there. Slowly, warily, she crossed the lift so she was standing between them. They watched her with mild interest, but didn't comment. Purdey stared. They stared back. She put her hands on her hips, impatience mounting.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" she demanded. "Whatever you are. I know you can't be real."

"Ah, there we go," Gambit said cheerfully, nodding at Steed. "She's twigged."

"What are you talking about?" Purdey snapped, looking from one to the other.

"Your brain's finally making a concerted effort at working this out," Steed supplied, looking just as smugly pleased as Gambit.

Purdey blinked. "Then you admit you're not real."

"_You_ are admitting we're not real," Gambit clarified. "We're just along for the ride."

Purdey wrinkled up her nose. "You're not my conscience, are you?"

Gambit grinned. "If I were, you wouldn't be half as virtuous. I'd make sure of that."

"Why are you here, then?" Purdey grumbled, blushing a little.

"As I said, you've taken your first step in trying to explain what has happened to you," Steed told her. "Now, first of all, if I'm here, who was it you just spoke to?'

"And who was it that paid you a visit last night?" Gambit put in.

"That seemed like a dream…" Purdey began.

Gambit shook his head. "No, you don't believe that, not entirely. It seemed too real, a bridge to the other side."

"Where I'm lying unconscious, somewhere," Purdey said quietly. "That's what I'd like to believe. It'd explain the pair of you, and that other Steed up in the office. Figments of my imagination. But it doesn't explain why. Why I'm here. Why it all seems so real."

"Other options, then," Steed pressed. "What other explanations are there?"

Purdey paced in the narrow confines of the lift. "Doppelgangers," she offered. "That wasn't the Steed I knew, up there. Someone, maybe one of them, they could have set this up. I don't know how." She remembered the sedatives. "They could be drugging me," she exclaimed.

"Try again. You haven't taken the pills," Gambit pointed out.

"And it is a bit elaborate for a scheme. Too much trouble for one agent," Steed mused.

Purdey sighed. "What else?"

Gambit exchanged glances with Steed. They both looked grim.

"Well?" Purdey crossed her arms.

"You're not going to like it," Gambit warned.

"I already don't like it. Try me."

Gambit let out a long sigh. "Two options. One: this could be real."

Purdey blanched. "But it can't. I remember you. I _saw_ you."

"You're seeing us now. How's it different?"

"But I couldn't have made that up," Purdey insisted. "You. I _felt_ you. I felt that whole life. I couldn't make up something that vivid. Could I?"

Gambit shrugged. "You'll have to sort that one out for yourself, Purdey-girl."

"You said there were two," Purdey reminded. "You only mentioned one."

Gambit locked eyes with her. "You've been under a lot of stress, Purdey. You _could _be simply mad."

Purdey turned away from the gaze, so penetrating in the red light. "No," she whispered, wheeling around. "I'm not ready to accept that. _I won't_."

But they were gone.

Just then the lift started up. The red light faded. Purdey made the trip in silence.


	9. A Drink With A Friend

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Another fresh chapter up. Purdey meets someone else this time round, with better results...

Along with this update, I'm also uploading a brand new fic which was responsible for a lack of updates in June. It monopolised my time for a bit, and then I sent it off to be betaed. It's since come back, and I'm taking this opportunity to do a double update--a new chapter and a new fic. Rest assured this will not affect _Life on Mars_ in any way. I'll still be updating it regularly. This is just a little bonus. It's called _The Question_, and if you're interested have a look and tell me what you think. 'Til next time!

* * *

Purdey walked down the Ministry steps in a daze, the events of the past few minutes replaying themselves over and over in her head. It couldn't be true. She couldn't be mad. Upset and disoriented, yes, but then who wouldn't be? But mad? No, that didn't fit at all. There was an explanation for all of this. For Larry. For her father. For Steed, the only one of those three who hadn't matched up to her mental image of the man she knew. Steed didn't know her. More than that, he didn't _want _to know her, nor have anything to do with her. That was the most galling thing, worse somehow than even her father and Larry coming back from the dead. Steed was supposed to be her _ally_, her _friend_. The man she knew would never leave her out in the cold, would never brush her or her problems aside as though they were trifling annoyances. But he'd given her the boot, almost literally. If Steed's reception was frigid, how were other people she 'knew' going to react? If they were all just as hostile, she was better off quitting while she was ahead, while she still had fond memories of those she thought she could trust.

No. That was wrong. She couldn't give up. Things weren't working out quite the way she planned, true, but that was no reason to throw in the towel. Not when she still had other avenues to pursue. She tried to rein in her fevered brain to focus on what she knew. Logic. That was what she needed. Logic. Cold hard logic. Evaluate everything as dispassionately as possible. She took a deep breath and went over what she'd found out so far. Steed. Steed was here, but not as she knew him. Or thought she knew him. If she had ever known him at all. No, she knew him, and that wasn't her Steed. She'd seen her Steed in the lift. She hadn't made him up. So this Steed was either an imposter or some other strange iteration. She'd have to tread carefully and see if she could convince him of who she was, bring him alongside. No matter where she was, John Steed was a valuable ally to have. That brought her to her other companion.

Gambit. If he didn't work at the Ministry, then where was he? His address hadn't changed, but clearly his mode of employment had. That made things difficult. Purdey started running through her options in light of this new information. HiHShe was so distracted she plowed straight into the back of the person in front of her, who had paused on the steps to check the time on the large clock in front of the building. The man—it was a man—stumbled forward a bit before righting himself, and Purdey grabbed the handrail to regain her balance. "Sorry," she apologized as he turned to face her. "It was my fault, I—" The words died on her lips as she finally saw his face. Those eyes…

"Gambit?" she breathed hopefully, moving quickly toward him so she could grab his arm with an iron grip lest he disappear again, the way he had the night before. Gambit's mouth dropped open and he gaped at her, blood draining from his face, his newly-pale countenance throwing the flicker of recognition in the blue-green eyes into sharp relief. He was frozen to the spot, eyes locked with hers as though her face had cast some sort of spell on him.

"How--?" he managed in an awe-filled voice, mouth desperately trying to form sentences. He gave up and finally settled for words. "You," he breathed, and his mouth quirked up at the ends in something like happiness. "It's you!" he repeated, with a little more enthusiasm, and Purdey nearly burst with joy. Gambit knew her! After Steed she'd been terrified he wouldn't, but he did. Purdey stepped in close, until they were face-to-face, grabbed a handful of his jacket, desperate to assure him that his eyes weren't failing him.

"Yes, Mike! It's me! Purdey!" she said urgently. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, ready to weep with joy. "You remember me! I can tell. Oh, I'm so glad. I thought--"

"Purdey…?" Gambit repeated, and frowned. Purdey felt her heart stop, and pulled away quickly. She watched in horror as the glimmer of recognition faded from his eyes, to be replaced with a heartbreaking sadness. He looked her up and down, as though not daring to believe what he was seeing. "Your name is Purdey? Not…." He looked away for a moment, swallowed hard before returning his gaze to her. "Purdey?"

"Yes. Purdey," she told him, but with much less enthusiasm. Her heart sank as she realized her wish hadn't come true. "You don't...you don't know me, do you?" she asked quietly, feeling all the newfound hope drain out of her.

Gambit shook his head. "I'm sorry, miss—" he glanced at her identification, "--sorry, _Mrs._ Doomer. I've never seen—I mean, I haven't had the pleasure."

"That much hasn't changed," Purdey quipped automatically, angry, but not at him. Now that the moment of delirium had passed, she could look at Gambit—really look at him-- for the first time. He was clad in a uniform—a Naval uniform, all black and gold. And the insignias indicated a high rank. The dark curly hair was cut short, so short that the curls could barely form. He had a scar through his right eyebrow, and the face, while physically the same, was composed, that of an officer who wouldn't tolerate disobedience, not a slightly roguish agent with a mischievous sense of humour. A cigarette was smoldering in his right hand, held loosely between his fingers. Clearly he'd been enjoying it when she'd run into him. As she watched, he frowned, catching up on Purdey's remark.

"What?" The voice was wrong, too. All the working-class tones had been ironed out in favour of a strident officer's clipped delivery. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I don't expect you to," Purdey said sadly. "Even if you're Gambit—"

"Yes, ma'am. Commander Michael Gambit, at your service." He saluted her smartly with the hand not holding the cigarette. "But I don't know where you got your intel. I certainly would've remembered meeting you. My name's been in the paper once or twice, but…"

Purdey shook her head. "No, we haven't met. Not in this life, anyway."

The frown deepened. "You're not one of those reincarnation types, are you?"

"I think that would be easier to accept. At the rate I'm going I should be a Buddhist in a few days." Purdey sighed. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Commander," she said sadly, feeling her legs give out. She sank onto the steps mournfully. Gambit watched her anxiously, clearly concerned for her well-being. The blue-green eyes were gentle. He flicked the cigarette away, all interest in it gone in favour of the girl on the steps.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Doomer?" he asked carefully, hitching up his trouser legs slightly so he could crouch beside her.

Purdey shook her head. "No," she admitted tipping her head back to look at the sky. "I'm lost."

"Ah, well, I can help you there. Where do you need to go?"

Purdey smiled sadly. "Not geographically. In life."

"Aren't we all?" Gambit quipped, mouth turning upwards in a brief smirk. Purdey smiled slightly in spite of herself. Gambit's grin wasn't quite right, but brief as it had been, it _was_ comforting.

"Maybe," she agreed. "But I'm more scattered than others."

"How?" Gambit wanted to know.

"It's not important." Purdey looked down at his feet. No boots. Even the shoes were wrong. She liked the boots, all leather, the smell. She knew they were the current style, but they always made her think of Gambit. The musky smell of leather as they kept pace with her on the dance floor. If there had ever been any dancing. She looked up into the eyes. They, at least, were the same, shifting from blue to green even as she watched. _Come on, Mike. Help me. _Gambit looked back. Even if he didn't know her, he seemed to be able to read her mind.

"You look like you could use a drink," he observed, straightening up as he did so. "I know a pub down this end. My treat. If you think your husband wouldn't mind."

Purdey snorted angrily at the mention of Larry. "What's he got to do with it?"

Gambit clearly sensed the hostility, but didn't comment. It was just as well. She wasn't interested in explaining her complicated non-marriage at the moment.

"You don't even know me," Purdey pointed out, realizing she had no reason to trust this Gambit. She honestly knew nothing about him. "Why would you ask me, unless you have an ulterior motive?"

"If I wanted that, I'd have asked you to my flat, love," he said kindly, with a friendly twinkle in his eye. "As it is, you look like you could use a friend, and I'm not in the habit of leaving lovely young women to stew in their own juices." He smiled, and he was _right_ for a moment. He reached a hand out to her.

Purdey looked at the hand for a moment, then slowly, hesitantly reached out to take it. The instant she made contact, the world brightened blindingly. Purdey was drowned in a storm of beeps and hisses. And somewhere, in the distance, Gambit's voice.

"Come on, Purdey-girl."

Purdey gasped, and blinked. The sound and light faded away. Gambit was looking at her, concern etched on his features. "What did you say?" she managed.

"I said 'come on, Mrs. Doomer,'" he replied in puzzlement. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Purdey said quickly. "Yes, I am--" She paused. She couldn't call this man Gambit, no matter how much he looked the part. Or didn't. And Mike was even more intimate. "—Commander," she said finally. "And call me Purdey. Please."

Gambit nodded curtly, and helped her up. "Purdey it is."

***

"I had an accident," Purdey told Gambit over the pint of bitter that she'd ordered by seconding Gambit's request. He'd raised an eyebrow at that, but hadn't commented. Purdey took mild pleasure in shocking him in spite of herself. "At least, that's what I'm told."

Gambit frowned as he looked up from lighting another cigarette. "You don't know?" he queried, putting his lighter back in his pocket and exhaling a long stream of smoke.

"Oh, I remember _an_ accident," Purdey clarified, trying not to inhale his fumes. "Quite clearly. I drove into a tree. Not terribly hard, but I did hit it. It wasn't my fault, really—I felt dizzy and I must have passed out."

"Seems straightforward enough," Gambit observed, taking a sip of his beer before following it up with another drag on the cigarette. "What's the problem?

"The accident I'm supposed to have had here—it's not the same one," Purdey revealed, then pressed on when Gambit's features creased in puzzlement. "Look, when I woke up in hospital, they told me I took a fall during practice."

"Practice?"

"Royal Ballet. I'm a member."

"Ah." Gambit with a raise of his eyebrows. He looked impressed. "Very nice. How did you fall?"

"Stepped off the stage, apparently. Hit my head." She sipped the beer and shrugged. "At least, that's what I'm told. As I said, I don't remember any of it. In fact, I don't remember any of the events of my so-called life before the accident. This life I'm meant to be living. Everyone acts as though I've been working at the ballet all this time, that I'm married, and they expect me to know exactly what's going on and how it all works. But I don't. As near as I can tell I don't know anything about this life after 1966."

"Amnesia?" Gambit suggested.

Purdey shook her head, sighed. Here was the tricky bit, the point at which Gambit would either stay on out of curiousity or walk away before the waters got any deeper. "Amnesia means you've lost your memory. But that's not what's happened to me. I _have_ my memories. They just don't match up with this life, starting about ten years ago."

"Hang on," Gambit interrupted, raising a hand to stop her, cigarette smouldering between his fingers. "Are you saying you remember things from some sort of alternate reality? Another life?"

Purdey smiled weakly. "Sounds mad, doesn't it? They've given me some pills. I'm not sure I don't need them."

"Well, you _have_ had a crack on the head. All sorts of things can get mixed up," Gambit reasoned, obviously trying to reassure her. Purdey couldn't help but appreciate the effort. Gambit was much more understanding than Steed had been, and he hadn't dismissed her out of hand. She had one ally for the moment, it seemed. "Look, maybe things would be clearer if you backtracked and laid out all the places where things diverged. You could find out where the breaking point is, and trace what happened to you from there." He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, laced his fingers on the tabletop. "What's different, exactly?"

Purdey smirked. It was all so weird it was almost funny. "Everything. _Everything's_ twisted. Things turned out differently, went the other way—down the other trouser leg, so to speak. People who should be dead are alive. Jobs I lost I'm still working at. People I thought I was close to don't even know who I am." She looked at him pointedly.

"Me?" Gambit asked quietly, studying his glass.

Purdey nodded. "You."

He worked his jaw for a moment, as though debating what to say next. When he finally spoke, his voice was tentative, as though he weren't sure he wanted to hear the answer. "How did I fit, exactly?"

Purdey studied his features, so familiar and yet so different. "It's odd," she murmured. "The same thing seems to have happened to you. I mean, the Navy. Now, my Gambit—if I can call him that—was in the service. But he left, years ago. And now he—you--works with me."

She thought she saw a flash of disappointment flicker across Gambit's features, but he hid it quickly, tried to look pleased with the proposition. "Sounds good."

"Well, we're not in a very good place at the moment," Purdey admitted with a sigh. "Something…happened, and you think I'm holding it against you."

"But you're not?" Gambit inferred.

"No, and I'm to blame for not correcting that misperception. I was going to, but I got interrupted." She pointed to her lump. "It's wreaking havoc with our working relationship."

"What is it you do, exactly?" Gambit wanted to know.

Purdey bit her lip. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"Nonsense. I want to help," Gambit insisted.

Purdey looked at the eyes again, pondering whether to continue. If he was a double, she could easily jeopardize the Ministry's bevy of secrets by telling him anything at all about her work. On the other hand, if he was a double, he would already know where she worked, who she worked for, and who she worked with. So long as she didn't start spilling state secrets or codes, she was still in safe waters. _Nothing to lose. _"If you really want to help, there is one way. I need some answers," she replied, side-stepping the question. "And I think you may be able to give them to me."

Gambit blinked, clearly unsure of what he could tell her that would be of help, but willing to try anyway. Purdey wondered why he was so interested in her, so keen to come to her aid if he wasn't a double, but she didn't have time to question his motives just now. _Just don't tell him anything too important._

"Go on," he offered.

Purdey took a deep breath. "Well, first of all, you were at the Ministry today. I don't think you stopped for a smoke in front of that building randomly, so you must have had a reason for being there. Do you work with a man called Steed?"

Gambit looked shifty. "I've consulted with him once or twice, but only on Naval business," he said carefully, as though he were as unsure of how much he could trust her as she was of him. "But I'm not one of his mob, if that's what you mean."

"I see." She pondered the table top. Steed had lied about Gambit, that much was certain, although he could hardly be blamed considering the circumstances. She was a mad civilian as far as he was concerned, and whatever Gambit had talked to him about was probably top secret. Gambit took a sip of his ale and waited for her to digest this new information.

"So you do at least know each other?" she asked finally.

"Yes," Gambit confirmed, looking resigned about the whole scenario. "Is that important?"

"It might be. You see, the three of us working together, but the two of you were partners before I came along. Things seem to be following a similar pattern here.

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Is that good?"

"Well, it means I didn't make it all up. That has to be worth something."

"Yes," Gambit said thoughtfully. "Yes, I guess it would be. But you say I should know you, too?"

"Ideally, but I can't have everything. It's a start," Purdey replied, sipping her beer. "Little things, but I'll take what I can get. If only I could prove to Steed that I'm genuine, that I'm not making this story up, that I actually do know the pair of you, I could get him onside as well. I'd feel so much better if we were three again. Then we'd be able to figure out what was going on." She chewed her lip in thought, then snapped her fingers. "The stud farm."

Gambit, deep in thought, started in surprise, nearly knocking his beer over in the process. "What?"

"Steed's house. If I know my way around too well, he'll have to at least consider what I say." She stood up, suddenly energized with purpose. "Do you have a car?"

Gambit blinked. "Yes, but…"

"Good. We'll need it. Let's go back to the Ministry."

"What for?"

She smiled. "Steed, of course."


	10. Back at the Farm

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: The site likes me again, so I can finally update this fic as well. Short chapter this time round, but next time I can promise a longer piece. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Along with this update, I'm also uploading a brand new fic which was responsible for a lack of updates in June. It monopolised my time for a bit, and then I sent it off to be betaed. It's since come back, and I'm taking this opportunity to do a double update--a new chapter and a new fic. Rest assured this will not affect _Life on Mars_ in any way. I'll still be updating it regularly. This is just a little bonus. It's called _The Question_, and if you're interested have a look and tell me what you think. 'Til next time!

Gambit had no trouble getting past Ministry security, Purdey noticed. He produced some sort of ID card that he flashed too quickly for her to see properly, but it was more a formality than anything. They knew Gambit here. He was clearly more deeply involved than either he or Steed was willing to admit. While it was a bit galling that Steed hadn't been truthful with her, she consoled herself with the fact that they at least knew and worked with one another. That was, at least slightly, closer to how things were meant to be.

Gambit knew his way to Steed's office, too, knocked before she had even managed to catch up to him at the office door. They were granted entrance, but the senior agent had been none too pleased at the second intrusion. His expression made that clear.

"Really, Mrs. Doomer, I can't help you. And as for you--" He pointed accusingly at Gambit.

The Commander held his hands up to stop the senior agent mid-sentence. "I know we're not supposed to be in contact until…well, I know the rules. But I've just spent half an hour with Mrs. Doomer here, and I think we owe it to her to give her a chance to straighten things out in her mind."

Steed scowled. "I wasn't aware that we owed her anything. I certainly don't know her, and I don't imagine you really do, either." Purdey frowned at the 'really,' but the significance only seemed to be understood by Gambit and Steed. "The only reason I've given her as much time as I have is because I respect her father, and _he_ asked me for a meeting."

"Then if you hold him in such high regard, you can spare a little more time to help his daughter get her mind right," Gambit countered. He waved a hand vaguely over the mounds of paper. "Don't tell me that can't wait a little while?"

Steed looked at Gambit's firm-set jaw and sighed, removed his glasses wearily. "How long?"

Purdey took his arm, pulled him upright with surprising strength, buoyed by Gambit's resolve. "An hour. That's all I ask. A chance to prove myself."

Steed looked to Gambit, shrugged. "All right," he said finally. "An hour."

***

Gambit drove a rather conservative black Land Rover, as opposed to the Jaguar XJS. Purdey found herself climbing in the back automatically regardless, seating herself so she could see between Gambit and Steed's seats. "I'll give the directions," she told Gambit.

"Backseat driver, are we?" he quipped as he slid his lithe frame into the car.

"Just this once," Purdey replied with a smirk.

***

"Here," Purdey told Gambit. "Turn here."

Gambit looked to Steed, who shrugged, before turning the car up the expansive gravel driveway. They drove up to a large house. The stud farm. Only there weren't any horses. Or any other signs of life.

Purdey got out and looked it over. "Your house," she said to Steed, confidently, and went to the door. She tried the knob—unlocked. She turned and beckoned for them to follow her inside.

Inside, the house was just as lifeless. All the furniture was shrouded in sheets, thick layers of dust coated the floor, and the curtains were drawn so that only the smallest sliver of light penetrated the gloom.

Purdey shivered. Steed's home always exuded warmth, much like the man himself, but the place felt dead and cold now, even though the weather outside was pleasant. "This is wrong," she whispered, hugging herself to ward off the chill that insisted on seeping into her bones. "All of it." She turned to Steed and Gambit, who were standing behind her looking puzzled. "Steed, your aunt. Auntie Penelope, of the rock cakes. She left you this house?"

"Yes," Steed confirmed. "But I don't live here. The commute from London is much too far."

"But you _do_ live here," Purdey insisted. "Sometimes it feels like we all do, we spend so much time here. Like here." She went to the shrouded dining room table. "We've had meetings around this table. And tomato salad. I made us all tomato salad left over from the man who grows things, the one responsible for the giant rat. The table's made of light wood." She pulled back the sheet covering it and showed them. "See?"

Steed and Gambit exchanged glances. "Giant rat?" Steed mouthed. Gambit shrugged.

"Or here," she went on, going to the short staircase near the table which led to the upstairs. "I repaired the banister for you once, after you were knocked into it in a fight and snapped one of the rails. Or here." She went to the mantle. "You had toy soldiers here. You showed them to Prentice, when Gambit went undercover with the commandos. And this couch. We've spent hours on this couch, reading files, or on Sundays Gambit and I come over, and we do the crosswords in all the papers. Or down the hall, there's a billiard room. We stayed out all night after that dinner for the Minister, and you and Mike played billiards." She spotted the piano in the centre of the room, and dashed over to it. "Mike and I have both played you 'Happy Birthday' on this piano. Different years. Sometimes Gambit and I fiddle about with it when we need a break, to clear our heads. Play little childhood ditties. And--" She stopped abruptly when she caught sight of their faces, coloured with bemusement and mild worry. "Why don't you remember?!" she screamed. "Are you fakes? Doubles? Robots? Who's doing this to me? And why?" She turned and pointed to a bookcase. "There's a collection of the complete works of P.G. Wodehouse in that bookcase. The one with the glass doors. Your aunt read them. How would I know that if I were mad? How? I can't make these things up, so there must be something wrong with you! What have you done with my Steed and my Gambit?"

"_Your_ Steed and Gambit, as near, as I can tell, don't exist," Steed said simply. "And what you've said doesn't prove anything at all. Memories of things that never happened aren't memories at all—they're fantasies."

"What about Tara King? I know about her. She was one of your partners. You worked together from 1968 to 1972. Then she took a post overseas. Paris first. At the moment she's in Canada. How do I know that?" Purdey asked triumphantly. She had him now. Agents' files were confidential. No one except a genuine Ministry agent would know something like that.

Steed suddenly looked very deflated, and very old. The transformation broke Purdey's heart. "Miss King did work with me, as you say," he said quietly. "But she's in a much further place than Canada. Tara King died in the line of duty early in 1973, on assignment with me." He sighed. "I felt as though my instincts had been failing me for some time, but I took an assignment anyway. I wanted to prove that I could still do fieldwork. I sent Tara into a situation she couldn't get out of. And she went willingly, because she trusted me. You asked why I decided to drive a desk, Mrs. Doomer. Now you know."

"Dead?" Purdey whispered, and sank dazedly onto the shrouded couch, sending up a cloud of dust. "But she can't…"

"She is. I'm sorry, Mrs. Doomer, but I'm afraid you're going to have to accept that what you remember is merely a product of your imagination. We'll give you a moment to digest that."

Steed and Gambit moved away to give her some privacy, and started to talk quietly, but Purdey, despite her distracted state, heard the words, as though through a fog, not comprehending, just registering the noise.

"She knows too much," Steed was saying. "About us. About me. About our meetings here."

"You think she's a spy?" Gambit asked in disbelief. "She's the daughter of one of your people. Besides, why come tell us all she knows? Why not keep quiet, try to infiltrate?"

"Maybe she's hoping we'll be sympathetic to her with this memory loss act."

Gambit shook his head. "She's not lying about that."

"How can you tell?"

"I just…know. She can't be a spy. Not for them, anyway. Anyway, you're the only one who knows I've been assigned. She couldn't possibly have found that out. I say she's genuine. Just a bit mixed up."

"Don't let your emotions get in the way," Steed warned. "Just because she reminds you of—"

"Don't," Gambit warned in a low growl. "Don't even say it, Major."

Purdey watched the dust for a moment, then turned her eyes toward the painting she was accustomed to seeing above the mantle. She blinked. That was no painting. It was a mirror. And the reflection was not depicting the room in which she currently sat.

First of all, that room was bright, filled with sunlight and warmth. All the furniture was clean and uncovered. And in the back of the room were two men conferring silently, both dressed in suits, one with a head of dark, curly hair.

And on the couch, surrounded by files, was a woman with short blonde hair. And she was looking straight at Purdey.

Purdey stood, and made her way toward the mirror, hand outstretched. The woman did likewise, dropping her file and approaching in wonder. Purdey put her palm to the glass, and the woman did the same. They stared at each other for a moment. Then Purdey could see the two men were approaching, and came to stand on either side of the woman. There they were, exactly as she remembered, both of them. And there she was, looking out with large blue eyes.

"Gambit," she whispered, mesmerized by the blue-green eyes staring out and past her. She turned her head, ever-so-slightly, afraid if she went any faster, she'd startle the vision away. "Steed?"

"That's right," the other Purdey said. "They're your Gambit and Steed. Or at least, they were."

Purdey frowned, brow furrowing in bemusement. "What do you mean, 'were'? They _are_ my Gambit and Steed. Not these imposters." She gestured vaguely behind her at the two men, still in conference.

The short-haired Purdey shook her head. "Sorry. Not anymore. You chose Larry over them, remember?"

Purdey blanched. "I didn't!" she hissed angrily. "I never—that's a lie! I was going to make things right. I was going to talk to them about it. Who the hell are you, anyway?"

The other Purdey laughed, and Purdey was horrified to see her own face contort into an evil smile. "I'm you," she said simply. "Or at least I am now. You made your choice, Purdey. You chose Larry, and now you have him. Now you have to live with it."

Purdey shook her head. "No, no…" She was vaguely aware of Steed and Gambit's presence on either side of her.

The man with the hair asked, "Purdey, what are you doing?"

"It's us," Purdey replied. "Can't you see?"

"It's our reflection," the man—Gambit—went on. "Of course it's us."

"No, us as we're meant to be. It's not the same thing." Purdey turned to look at Gambit, and the woman did the same. "Doesn't it look different to you?"

Gambit shook his head. "No."

"Well, you—" Purdey turned back, and found to her horror that the image was gone. She was looking at a long-haired Purdey, a wearier Steed, and a Gambit with a military cut.

"No," she whispered, putting both hands to the glass. "No, wait, come back. I'm here! Steed! Gambit! I'm here! Don't leave me! I'm Purdey. Your Purdey! Please!" she screamed, slamming her palms futilely against the glass. "Please! Get me out of here!"

She felt two pairs of hands grab her arms and pull her away. She struggled against them, still screaming for people she wasn't even certain existed outside her own mind.

"She's hysterical," Steed said, as he and Gambit did their best to restrain her.

"Her pills," Mike said suddenly. "She said they gave her something—a sedative, I don't know—after the head injury. They should be in her purse."

Steed nodded. "Can you--?"

"Leave her with me." Steed left, and Gambit wrapped the girl in a bear hug, desperately trying to keep her still, even as she screamed into his ear.

"Let me go! I don't even know you!" she growled, then noticed the pained, grim expression on his face. And she could suddenly see trees, and sky, and Gambit in a dark suit, quietly taking her hysteria with only a wince as he kept her away from the launch site—and Larry's body. Just trying to keep her safe, like he always did. Even if it hurt him, even if she'd blame him for it later. Even if none of it was his fault. Even if it broke his heart. He'd take it. He'd take it for her.

She quit struggling.

Steed returned, and gave her a couple of pills, which she slowed obediently. Only then did Gambit release her, and the three of them stood there for a moment, Purdey brushing the long hair from her face. Then she looked at them both.

"I'm sorry," she began. "It's not your fault. Neither of you. I'm—I don't know what I am." She looked quietly at the mirror. "Maybe I am meant to be here. Maybe I am mad."

The words hung heavily in the air. Purdey bit back tears and tried not to prolong her torture.

"Take me home," she said finally. "Whoever you are."

****

Purdey climbed in the back of the car on autopilot, and stared miserably at the back of the two dark heads as they drove back to the Ministry. They looked so right from that angle, even Gambit's short hair. But there was no friendly banter, no one to ask about old movies or existential philosophy. She suddenly felt very alone.

Gambit dropped Steed off at the Ministry first, before asking Purdey where she needed to go.

"I can find my own way home," she told Gambit, not wanting to prolong her misery any further.

"It's no trouble," Gambit insisted. "Really. Just give me an address."

"I'm out in the country."

"I know the country like the back of my hand," Gambit said, with just a touch of hubris. He patted the seat beside him. "Sit up front and watch if you don't believe me. Just tell me your address."

Purdey sighed and did as she was told. This Gambit was just as hard to quash as her own, and he seemed as though he genuinely wanted to help. It felt wrong to spurn him. So she told him where she lived and settled back to see if he was as good as he said he was.

He did seem to know the way, which was surprising considering how much time he spent glancing at Purdey out of the corner of his eye, as though he were trying to convince himself she was really there. Purdey didn't quite know what to make of that, but she was so muddled with everything that had gone on that she didn't have the energy to sort out yet another mystery. All the same, it was difficult for her to get him to leave. He kept making small talk, as though he wanted to squeeze every single second out of their meeting. Finally, though, he seemed to take the hint, and with a sad smile, said good-bye.

"Thank you," she told him quietly, not wanting him to think her ungrateful. "For everything."

"I'm only sorry I couldn't help you more," Gambit lamented. "If there's anything else you need…"

"No," Purdey cut in. "No, there's nothing you can do. I have to figure this out for myself, Commander."

"I see," Gambit said quietly, looking disappointed. "Well, good luck."

"Thank you," Purdey murmured, closing the car door behind her. "I may need it," she added to herself, as she watched him drive away.


	11. Revelations

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Nice long chapter this time around. Trying to push things along a little faster. The more Purdey finds out, the more confused she gets. Enjoy!

* * *

Purdey wandered around the grounds of the expansive house for an hour. Or maybe it was two. She couldn't tell. Time seemed to have no meaning anymore. Her life had been turned upside-down. She might as well have been living on Mars for all the difference it would have made.

_Only Mars would seem like Mars_, she mused. _This feels right and wrong at the same time. This is my ideal life, as of 1970. All the heartache, it never happened. Dad's still here. Larry obviously never went mad, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Everything's how I imagined it would be. So why don't I feel happy? _

**Because it came at too high a price**_, _a voice told her._ Because you're not Purdey Doomer. You're not even Purdey Bryde. She died, years ago. She was naïve and idealistic. She was content to play the happy homemaker, and dance when she could. But in my mind, I grew up. I live on danger now. And where my dad and Larry once were, I have two other people, people who know Purdey—the real Purdey. _Just_ Purdey. And now they're gone. If they ever existed. _She shook her head. No, they did exist. She was sure of that. She was tired, that was all. Tired and confused. It had been a very long, very strange day, and she needed some time to reflect on it, clear her mind. She wanted a nap. And a drink.

She let herself into the house through the front door, pausing to give Edmund a pat on the head when he bounded up to her feet enthusiastically. The dog's fur felt soft and smooth under her fingers, so vividly real it seemed inconceivable for it to be anything but. But she couldn't let herself accept whatever this world was _that_ easily. Edmund was friendly and enthusiastic, but he didn't mean anything. Not at the moment. Not while her Steed and Gambit were as alive in her mind as they were in that mirror. She had to find a way back to them. Somehow.

She made her way into the center of the living room and stood there, letting herself think of nothing for the moment while she pondered the impossibly perfect bay windows with the loveseat in the middle. The light filtered through the glass and spilled over the seat, just as she'd always envisioned it. But far from the dreamy image she had conceived in her youth, it instead conjured up feelings of loathing, about how naïve she had been, about how old and outdated the idealism was in contrast to her present self. She was trapped in an old dream, and in some ways that was worse than being in a nightmare. She needed out as soon as possible.

Purdey squared her shoulders, her brief reverie bringing fresh resolve. Right, no one was going to get her out of this, so it was up to her to find her own way. She needed to write down everything that had happened while it was still fresh in her mind. For that she would need a pen and paper, preferably a notebook she could tuck away and carry everywhere. The last thing she needed was someone stumbling across her notes and having her committed—or worse.

She bit her lip and glanced around the room. Stationary, stationary. Where would she find stationary in this house? Certainly not here, and there hadn't been a writing desk in the bedroom. An idea occurred to her, and she snapped her fingers triumphantly. Larry's office. What were offices but places to write? Larry had told her the office was off-limits, but Larry didn't appear to be home, and she found she didn't care what the hell he thought. After all, he was the one going around coming back from the dead and saying he was married to her. What kind of say did a dead man have?

"None," she said out loud, and Edmund looked up from where he had laid down by her feet. She smiled down at the dog and jerked her head to the side, indicating they were going. "Come on, Edmund. Let's raid daddy's desk."

Edmund bounced to his feet enthusiastically and trotted off down the hall after his mistress. Purdey stopped at the door and tried the knob. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. Purdey wasn't quite certain why she assumed it would be otherwise, but that didn't mean she could shake the feeling of foreboding as she eased the door open and stepped inside.

The room was dark, curtains drawn, windows shut, a faint musty smell hanging in the air. Purdey stepped inside and immediately felt a shiver run down her spine. Something was wrong here. The room felt…evil. There was no other word for it. Darkness lived here, darkness that never saw the cleansing light of day, just sat and stewed within itself. She could feel it everywhere. Behind her, Edmund whimpered. Purdey hurried over and turned on the desk lamp, felt instant relief when the light punctured the gloom. She looked back to see the dog lurking in the doorway, unwilling to venture beyond the threshold. "Come on," she beckoned, but the dog only whimpered again and stepped back a pace. Purdey couldn't blame him. She didn't want to spend any more time in here than she had to. Quickly she started searching the desk drawers.

Larry had a pair of blank notebooks in the bottom drawer, and Purdey appropriated one for herself along with a pen. The top drawer, she had noticed, had been locked, but that wasn't surprising. Larry was in the military, and he had been trusted with secret documents even when she had known him, let alone seven years along in his career. She briefly wondered if she ought to see what was inside, but at the moment she didn't have the mental resources to skim through whatever she might find. Her brain needed to empty itself soon. She was starting to get a headache from the dust. Apparently Larry didn't even let anyone clean the office.

Her mission complete, Purdey straightened up and leaned over the desk with the intention of turning off the lamp. It was then that she noticed the file sitting on the desk's surface. It was plain red and unadorned, save for its label, which drew Purdey's attention.

The label said very little. In fact, it contained three simple letters: MAG. Purdey frowned at it. MAG. MAG. She knew that from somewhere. What had it been? Some sort of international agreement, a treaty? Some other secret document? She had seen so many it was almost impossible to keep track, yet those letters meant something to her. If only she could remember what. MAG. What was it?

Behind her, Edmund barked.

"Hush, Edmund," Purdey rebuked distractedly. "I'm trying to think."

"So sorry to disturb you, darling."

Purdey jerked upright and whirled around. She found Larry standing in the doorway, fixing her with a cold stare. Edmund was cowering off to the side.

"I thought I told you this room was my private domain," Larry said with a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I thought we had an understanding, darling."

"Did you?" Purdey replied coolly. She really wasn't in the mood for Larry's macho posturings. "Well, I'll bear that in mind." She started toward the door, intent on leaving the room, maybe even the house, if Larry persisted in making a nuisance of himself. But Larry blocked the opening, placing one hand on each side of the frame, effectively barring her passage.

"Just a minute, darling. We're going to talk about this."

Purdey narrowed her eyes. What did Larry think he was doing? "About what?" she snapped, and she could see a faint flicker of surprise cross his features. Maybe in this world Purdey had never snapped at her husband. Well, that was about to change.

"About why you're in here," Larry told her, voice icy-calm. "In my office. In the dark."

Purdey sighed and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. This really was intolerable. She wasn't in the mood for Larry at the best of times, and certainly not now. "If you must know, I was looking for a notebook. I wanted to jot some things down since my memory since the accident has been less than reliable." It was the truth, more or less. Larry didn't need to know that she was planning on noting down all the ways this world conflicted with the memories she did have. But she wanted him to go away, and semi-honesty seemed the best way to accomplish that. She lifted the hand holding the pencil and book in one hand and waved it before his eyes. "See?"

Larry looked from the book to her skeptically. "Really?"

"Really." Purdey tucked the book and pencil into her pocket. "Now, if you'll be kind enough to step aside…" Larry didn't look inclined, but Purdey didn't give him a choice, pushing past and heading back down the hall, Edmund trotting at her heels.

"I don't believe you!" Larry shouted from behind her, and she could hear his footsteps hurry after her. Purdey clenched one fist in anger and spun on her heel so suddenly that Larry nearly collided with her in his haste.

"Don't you?" Purdey snapped. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Did you actually go to your parents' this morning?" Larry's eyes were burning now, burning with an anger she hadn't seen since…since…

_Since I stopped him from shooting the Emir._

"What does that have to do with anything?" Purdey wanted to know. Something was going on here, and she didn't know what it was. There were enough things she didn't understand about this place without Larry putting his oar in.

"Just answer the question." She could hear the undercurrent of anger.

"All right. Yes, I did, as if it's any of your business," Purdey snapped, crossing her arms defiantly. There was no way he was going to cow her into submission.

"Really? And that's the only place you went?" Larry pressed.

Purdey scowled. "I beg your pardon?"

"You didn't take a little detour, drive on some place else?"

"Why do you think that?" Purdey was starting to feel mildly uneasy. She didn't want Larry to know where she'd been, for reasons she wasn't entirely clear on herself. All she knew was that she didn't trust him, even if he was alive and apparently hadn't run off and conducted political assassinations.

Larry's eyes narrowed. "Because I called your parents this morning. They said you had been in, but you'd just gone. That was at eleven. It's half past one, now. It doesn't take you that long to drive back from London. So you must have gone somewhere else."

"And what if I did?" Purdey said frostily.

"And didn't tell me?"

"I wasn't aware I needed your permission," Purdey said sarcastically.

Larry's eyes narrowed. "You told me you were going to your parents'. You didn't tell me where else. You lied to me. Deliberately." Purdey didn't answer, just watched him the way she would someone armed and dangerous. Larry looked as though he would go off at any time, shoulders heaving, face tense with anger. "Where did you go, Purdey?" he asked with a deadly calm.

"None of your business."

"It bloody well is my business. You more or less cut me dead, lie about where you've been. And now I catch you snooping around my desk. _Again._" Purdey frowned. Again? This had happened before? One thing was certain. Gambit and Steed may have changed, but Larry's temper hadn't.

"You were out spying, weren't you?" Larry said nastily to Purdey's surprised features. "Sniffing around. Checking up on me. I heard you call your father last week. I heard you set up that meeting. You know something, don't you?"

Purdey frowned in confusion. What was Larry talking about? She had been doing some investigating, but it hadn't had anything directly to do with Larry. And she hadn't been snooping around his desk. But apparently it had happened before. And there was still that call to her father. That didn't make sense at all. It was almost as if there was a Purdey, another Purdey, whose place she had taken, and that Purdey had been up to a few things of her own. But what did that Purdey know? What had she found? Why was she so worried about Larry hearing about it that she had to set up clandestine meetings with her father? Purdey's head started to pound. Too many questions. Too much information. And Larry was only making it worse. He wouldn't help her, so there was no point in asking him what he was talking about. The best thing to do was to extricate herself before the waters got any deeper.

"I don't know what you're talking about Larry," she said calmly.

Larry snorted. "Really? It's all down to your knock on the head, is it? Can't remember a thing?"

That was it, more or less. "Yes," Purdey agreed. "I don't remember calling my father and I don't remember snooping around your desk. All I wanted was a notepad."

"Right," Larry said sarcastically. "And I suppose you just went for a Sunday drive today?'

"Leave it, Larry."

"Tell me where you were!"

The yelling only made Purdey mad. That was enough of this show. She turned to leave. "I don't need to justify myself to you," she shot back over her shoulder.

Larry grabbed her arm. "We're not finished," he told her. "You've been avoiding me ever since the accident. I want to know why. I want to know what it is you've found out."

Purdey looked at his hand. Then she looked at him. Her eyes glinted dangerously. "Let go," she ordered.

"I liked you better before the head injury," Larry sneered, tightening his grasp. "You were much more content with things then."

"I _said_, let go," Purdey repeated, eyes blazing.

"No."

She shook him off, but the loosened hand came back around, the open palm aiming for her face. But it never made it. Purdey's hand shot out, a pure reflex action, and caught his wrist, stopping it inches from her cheek. The left one.

"Nothing's changed," she murmured, and Larry could only gape at her in shock. They locked eyes for a moment, and then his face twisted into a dark scowl. She could feel his body tense, preparing for another attack. She wasn't about to give him that opportunity.

Before either of them knew what was happening, Purdey pushed his arm out and around his back in one fluid motion, slamming him face first into the wall, twisting his arm behind his back, and holding it there with a strength she didn't know she possessed.

"I can break your arm," she hissed in his ear. "Really, I can. And I can break your back in three places, if I have the urge. Now, if you want to put that to the test, I can demonstrate. Or, you can stay here like a good boy while I leave. And don't even think about following me." She applied a little more pressure to his arm to prove her point, and he winced. "Understand?"

He nodded painfully, and Purdey released him before dashing out the door, only pausing to snatch the car keys off the side table. Larry heard the car start and accelerate away as he rubbed his arm. It was only when he was certain she was down the driveway that he, too, made his way out the door.

***

Purdey drove blindly, tears in her eyes. It had happened again. Nearly. Only this time she'd been ready. Dream house or no, the last seven years had stripped away the gallant air ace and left only the possessive monster she had tried so hard to justify when she was young. Because she had wanted a family. So badly. But she had found one in the end, a strange sort of family of three, with one looking out for his two young charges. Only now it was gone again. Or had never existed. She wiped away more tears. How many more people did she have to lose? For every one she gained, someone else had disappeared. It all seemed so awful now. She was so alone. Even her parents couldn't understand what had happened to her, and they certainly couldn't help her get home. Besides, Larry knew them, knew where they lived, and she didn't want to see him again for a long while, not if she could help it.

She drove the car for hours, uncertain of where to go or what to do, mind reeling, biting back tears. Eventually she became too tired to drive any further, and stopped the car to collect herself. Now what? She had no money, no clothes, nothing. And she certainly wasn't going back to the house for them. She let her eyes roam aimlessly over the street. Funny. Something about it seemed terribly familiar. Purdey shook her head, let her eyes focus and take in the details. Could it be? Yes, it was! She'd come here unconsciously because she'd needed somewhere to go. And where did she go when she needed a quick pick-me-up, a place she knew she'd always be welcome and safe? Purdey took off her safety belt and opened the car door. Hopefully her experiences held in this world. He was her last hope.

***

Commander Mike Gambit was helping himself to a Scotch when he heard his buzzer go. Odd. He wasn't expecting anyone. Crossing the room in quick strides, he opened the door and found himself face-to-face with a tear-stained Purdey. She gave him a weak smile.

"I know you don't owe me anything, Commander," she said quietly, voice hoarse from swallowing sobs, "but I—I've just left my husband, or whatever he was, and I left in a bit of a hurry, so I didn't exactly have time to pack, and now—" She shrugged. "I ended up here. I know as far as you're concerned, I'm a mad stranger, and I'll understand if you throw me out, but more than anything right now, I could use a friendly face, even if the man behind it isn't the same." She sniffled and smiled her hopeful smile again. "If I could…"

She half-expected him to slam the door in her face, lock it, and phone the police. But part of her was certain that Gambit wouldn't do that, no matter what the incarnation. And as she watched, she saw the debate rage behind the blue-green eyes she knew so well. Just what he was debating she wasn't certain, but in the end the side in her favour seemed to win out because the eyes softened and the lips stretched into a smile. He stepped to the side and swept an inviting arm through the opening.

"Come in," he told her, and she smiled gratefully, accepting the invitation and walking through a doorway she'd entered on hundreds of occasions, for what felt like the first time.

"Have a seat," Gambit offered as he closed the door. He turned to face her, Scotch still in hand. "You really are upset. What happened?" The tone was kind, just like the eyes. Purdey sank into the couch gratefully and glanced around automatically at her surroundings. Structurally the flat was the same, but that was the only aspect of the room Purdey recognized. It was stark, unadorned, almost empty. All black and white, no splashes of colour, green, red, orange. It felt more like a hotel room than anything. No pictures, no art, no weapon collection. The couch wasn't retractable, just a rather rigid white leather model. She found herself superimposing all the missing pieces onto the room, imagining all the things she thought should be there. _Knew. Knew should be there!_ She had to remember that, had to remember that this was the deviation from reality, and what she remembered was the real thing. She had to hang on to that. But it was so hard when she was sitting in Gambit's flat, with Gambit, and nothing she saw reinforced what she knew. This Gambit betrayed nothing about himself. Even the books on the shelf were nondescript.

"He hasn't changed," she said finally, belatedly answering her host's question when she felt his eyes on her.

Gambit grinned, and for a moment he looked like his old self. "Men never do, but not everyone splits up over it."

Purdey looked up and locked eyes with him. "Not every husband tries to hit his wife," she said tersely, with more force than she'd intended, but she knew what Larry was, and she felt like venting her anger to a friendly ear at that moment, and having someone share her outrage.

She got her wish. The grin was gone, replaced with a look of pure menace. "He tried to what?" came the low growl.

"He sounded a a lot like that, too," Purdey went on numbly, but Gambit wasn't listening. She'd seen him stiffen as soon as the words had left her lips, and watched the menace wash over his face until only a grim mask remained. He got up and paced the room.

"He was going to hit you? Is he mad? Where is he?" He turned abruptly on his heel, headed for a closet and yanked open the door to reach for his coat. "I'll straighten him out."

Purdey shot up and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. She didn't want Gambit to leave and fight her battles for her. She didn't want anything to do with Larry at all, and she certainly didn't want Gambit embroiled in the ugliness between them. She just wanted him here. On the other hand, she knew she shouldn't be surprised at his reaction. She had never told Gambit that her first blow hadn't been taken in the field but at the hands of her so-called love. Her Gambit would probably be just as upset if she told him. When she told him. If she ever got home. "Please don't," she said to Gambit, feeling the tension of his muscles beneath his shirt. He was just as well-built as her own Gambit had been, that was certain. "I already gave him something to think about. It won't do anyone any good if you get tossed in jail defending my honour."

"He can't do that," Gambit repeated quietly, jaw working madly but calming at her touch. "Not to you."

Purdey smiled fondly at her defender. Gambit was always ready to help her, even if he didn't know her. That was comforting. "The sentiment is appreciated, but not necessary."

He sighed and nodded, closing the closet door and walking with her back to the couch. "Sorry," he apologized as they sat. "It's just—I don't take kindly to men who think they can slap women around. My dad—well, he did a lot of things to my mum, and got away with it." He shook his head. "And she stayed, for whatever reason. Then one day he tried it on me." The smile that followed was joyless. "But I was big for my age." He sighed, shaking off old, dead memories. "But you don't need to hear this. I'm just glad you had the sense to get out."

"I'm sorry about your mother," Purdey said quietly, "but even I'm not mad enough to consider staying on with someone like that."

Gambit waved her off. "It's the past. Doesn't matter. Anyway, I don't think you're mad."

"Don't you? Even after my little performance at the farm?"

"No," Gambit said with conviction. "I don't. Honest. A little confused, maybe, but you've had a blow to the head for goodness' sake. Anyone would be mixed up."

"But I told you. I don't just have amnesia. I have memories—different memories. Memories of people. Places. You." She pushed back a stray lock of hair in frustration. "Where would I get you from unless I knew you?"

Gambit shrugged. "Maybe you saw my picture once, somewhere. Or passed me on the street. The mind can do strange things, pick up irrelevant details, bury them away for years, then spit them up when you least expect it." He grinned. "I took some psychology in college. Can you tell?"

Purdey blinked in surprise. "College?"

"Navy paid my way. Course, I had to upgrade because—"

"You left school at 14 to join up. I know." She couldn't help but take some pleasure in his gobsmacked expression. "See what I mean? I know things. Detailed things. How could I make that up?"

"I…don't know," Gambit admitted faintly, obviously at a loss. "Although I did throw you a bit of a curveball just now, about school. Didn't your, er, Gambit, take classes?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. 'Knockabout education,' I think he called it. He supplements with what he can, and he's a great believer in the instructive qualities of his girlfriends."

"What's he learned from you?" Gambit quipped with a wicked grin, eyes skimming over her.

"I'm not his girlfriend," Purdey corrected hastily.

"Too bad," he lamented with a wink, and rose to go to the bar. "Been quite the day, hasn't it? You need a drink. What can I get you?"

Purdey looked at the abandoned glass on the coffee table. "Scotch, since it's your choice."

Gambit poured her one, and brought it over to where she sat on the couch. "Thanks," she said, reaching out to take it. Her fingers curled around the glass to take it, but before she could she froze, her gaze riveted on his hand, still holding the glass out to her. His left hand. On the ring finger, clear as day, was a plain gold band. Purdey swallowed hard.

Gambit looked at her for a moment in puzzlement, then followed her line of sight to rest on his hand. Her fingers were overlapping his on the glass. He pulled away quickly.

"You're married," Purdey said faintly. "That's not right."

"Sorry?" Gambit looked mildly offended.

Purdey shook her head. "No, I mean, well, my Gambit wasn't married. Wasn't really the monogamous kind, if you take my meaning." Her head started hurting. Gambit? Married? She hadn't been expecting that at all. "I'm sorry," she sputtered. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have bothered you. Coming by your flat. Your wife will be furious. I don't want to be responsible for another broken marriage." She set down her drink, rose quickly, scrambling to leave. But before she could flee, Gambit's hand took hers gently, and she looked up at him with moist eyes. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Gambit shook his head. "Don't be. My wife won't be coming home any time soon. She—"

He paused, and Purdey could see he was choking back tears. "She died. Years ago. Car accident. Seven years ago now. 1970."

"1970," Purdey whispered, sitting down again heavily. "The year Larry and I—" She stopped when she realized Gambit was looking at her oddly.

"The year you what?" Gambit wanted to know.

"Nothing," Purdey said automatically, trying to shake off the implications of the timeline. "Go on."

Gambit looked mildly surprised at her curiousity. "You really want to hear about it?"

"Yes," Purdey confirmed, feeling a little surprised herself. Why she cared was a slight mystery to her, but for some reason it seemed important. "Please. If you don't mind."

Gambit worked his jaw, stood and took a box from the coffee table, opened it, and removed a cigarette. Purdey waited patiently while he took a lighter from his pocket and lit it with shaking hands. Clearly he needed it if he was going to recount such a difficult chapter in his life. She couldn't blame him.

Gambit took a long drag and pondered the ceiling for a moment before returning his attention to her. "Like I said, it was a car accident. I was driving. I was supposed…I should have…" He shook his head, paced the room, hand not holding the cigarette clamped on the back of the neck. "We were arguing, if you must know. And I kept looking her way while we did it. I should have been paying better attention to the road, but I was so _angry_." He struck his thigh uselessly with his fist. "I mean, the other driver was technically in the wrong, but still. He came from her side, and she took all the impact. And I…I had to pull her out. But she was already…she was fading. And then…then…" He sniffed angrily and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Well, I don't need to spell it out for you, do I?"

Purdey lowered her eyes. "No, you don't. I'm sorry," she repeated, feeling helpless in the face of grief. "I didn't mean to bring up unpleasant memories. It's just—I didn't notice the ring until now, and you never said." Gambit waved her off.

" 'S fine," he managed, drawing a hand across his eyes.

"No, sit down. Can I get you something?" She moved to push him gently onto the couch, but he resisted.

"Please, Mrs. Doomer," he said with great effort. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Purdey frowned. "Why?"

"There's something you should know about Carrie—my wife, that was her name. I should've told you this sooner, but I didn't want to scare you away, and you have enough to deal with as it is, what with your head and everything…" He crossed the room to a cabinet not unlike the one she had in her own flat—or at least thought she had. In amazement, she watched as he opened a drawer and removed a framed photograph. The parallels between her own safe place for Larry's picture and this room made scenes—memories--flash in her head. She saw Gambit's drawn face through the door again, asking for the forms while she stood in the hall, doing nothing. She shook the image away as Gambit returned with the picture. He handed it to her.

"This is Carrie," he told her. "My Carrie."

There were two people in the picture, actually. One was Gambit, much younger, and skinnier as a result, though the hair was still too short. And happier. But it was the woman that caught her eye. Tall, slim, huge eyes. The picture was in black and white, but the hair was definitely light-coloured, and long. She had a wide smile as she looked adoringly at Gambit.

It was unmistakable. Purdey gasped, felt her heart stop.

Carrie Gambit was her, as she had been years ago, when she had been with Larry. Gambit had married her—Purdey--in everything but name. A woman named Carrie who could be Purdey's twin. She looked up at Mike, mouth gaping, her eyes conveying a wealth of emotion, shock predominate.

"It's not just the face, either," Gambit told her, as though in a daze. "The way you say things, move, smile, pull a face when you're angry." He crouched down so he was at eye-level with where she sat. "But it's the eyes, mainly. Carrie had huge blue eyes—you could get lost in them. I frequently did. I've never seen anyone else with eyes like those—until now." Purdey could feel herself trembling as he reached out to caress her face. "You thought I recognized you when you ran into me on the steps, and I did, but not because I was your colleague. If Carrie were still alive, I've no doubt she would've looked just like you." His hand dropped away. "But you're not Carrie, and I'm not the Gambit that you seem to have your heart set on. It's the universe's idea of a cruel joke, I suppose."

Purdey could feel tears sliding down her cheeks. Was this why she was here? To fill the void in this man's life, where his wife should have been? Or was she really this Carrie woman? Was that where all memories had gone? Could she have been swapped?

"Commander," she said quietly. Gambit had been looking down, but raised his head to meet her eyes once more. "You're absolutely certain you saw Carrie die?"

He looked a bit taken aback. "In my arms. Like I said, she just faded away. I didn't really have the chance to say good-bye properly." He looked away bitterly. "She wanted me to stay in the Navy. She thought I had potential, that I could be more than I was. But I wanted to leave. I wasn't satisfied. I was going to turn in my resignation that week. So I could do other things. She thought I should stay, work my way up. That's what we were arguing about in the car. Then everything went to hell." He winced, eyes shut tight against the memories. "So I stayed. Commander now. She would've been thrilled." He looked at her. "Why? Why do you want to know?"

"No reason," she said quietly, feeling too foolish to confide in him about her conspiracy theories. She looked up and met the blue-green eyes, could see the pain in them, felt it reflected in her own heart. "But I think I can help."

Gambit frowned at her in puzzlement. "How?"

Purdey swallowed hard. What was she doing? But it had to be said. She needed to do this, to do something to relieve the pressure building in her head created by everything she had seen and heard that day. "You never said good-bye?"

He shook his head. "I told you. I wasn't fast enough."

"Then say it now." She grasped his shirt in both hands and pulled him into a long kiss. He didn't respond at first, but then he brought a hand round the back of her neck, and started to kiss her back. Purdey settled back, let herself drink in the sensations. She found herself oddly surprised. With all the differences between her Gambit and this one, she was certain he wouldn't feel right, wouldn't taste right. Purdey could have sworn he would taste of cigarettes like a classic smoker, but he didn't. Not at all. In fact, he tasted just like her Gambit, even though she really hadn't had much experience with that. Even though she'd only given Mike that brief kiss on Christmas Eve, and another right before the S-95 caper. Even though he'd never really gotten a chance to kiss back, because she'd always taken him by surprise. But he felt right. Even his lips felt right. And when she broke away to look at him, his voice even sounded like—

"Purdey." Purdey's eyes snapped open and she saw—

Gambit. But not Commander Gambit, the Gambit of the other world. _Her _Gambit. And he was—

Shouting. Screaming, actually. Jaw tense. Eyes wide with fear.

"Purdey!" He urged. "Come on, Purdey!"

"Mike!" Purdey exclaimed in surprise. He was here. He was real. Or, at least he looked real. So real. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, but her limbs suddenly felt paralyzed. In fact, her whole body was. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. All she could do was look, look at Gambit's worried face, at the seat beaded on his forehead, at the way his shoulders were heaving with exertion. Purdey felt herself start to panic.

"Purdey!" he was saying. "Purdey, stay with me! You have to fight. Work with me, Purdey!" She could feel her hands on her shoulders, gripping, spurring her on. They moved to her chest, pushed hard, and Purdey felt air explode into her lungs, felt her body jerk to life.

The world brightened blindingly before her eyes. Gambit faded away, everything faded away. And then she saw.

_Boat. _

_Lights._

And Gambit's face again. But this time he was smiling down at her, and behind him there were—

_Stars._ And she was--

_Falling._

_And then there was a sudden stop. And then--_

"Purdey!"

Purdey opened her eyes, found herself once again looking up into Gambit's worried face. But it was the wrong Gambit again, the Commander, the one with the scar. He was bent over her, and Purdey realized she was sprawled on the couch, hands clutching at her skull.

"What happened?" Purdey managed, head throbbing, feeling weak and disoriented. The lights in the room seemed intolerably bright.

"I don't know," Gambit admittedly worriedly. "You just collapsed, curled up with your eyes closed like you were trying to get away from something."

_Or get somewhere. _

"It's all to do with your head, isn't it?" Gambit was saying, sounding frantic. "Do you need a doctor? Should I call someone?"

"No," Purdey said firmly, gently easing herself into a sitting position. "No, don't. I'm fine. Really." Gambit looked skeptical, but didn't argue. "I'm tired, that's all."

"Then I'll get you to bed—well, not that way." He smiled one of his mischievous smiles, as he helped her up. "Come on." Purdey took the offered arm, let him take on her weight. Her legs felt like jelly, just the way Steed's must have when he went over the wall. As she put her arm over his shoulder, she wondered vaguely why she hadn't let Gambit offer his shoulder when she went over her own personal wall.

Gambit's bedroom was as stark as the living area, all black and white. The bed was large and comfortable-looking. Purdey raised an eyebrow.

"That's quite the bed for one," she commented wryly.

"I like my space," Gambit quipped, clearly comforted by her attempts at humour.

"And it's always good to have extra space, in case of visitors," Purdey added knowingly.

"Sometimes," Gambit allowed. "I'll leave you to it."

"Where will you sleep?" Purdey wanted to know.

"I'll make up the couch," Gambit replied.

"I don't want to put you out."

"You're not."

Purdey pondered the large sleeping space. "The bed is awfully big. We could share."

Gambit let out a short bark of laughter. "Is that a proposition?"

"Nothing of the kind. You stay at your end, I'll stay at mine."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is this what you and this other Gambit got up to?"

Purdey laughed. "Only in his dreams, Commander." She took off her boots and crawled in, suddenly unbelievably tired. "Nothing has to happen."

"But you don't know me," Gambit protested.

"I know you well enough," Purdey replied. "And even if I don't, I still trust you."

Gambit smiled fondly, shook his head. "I'm flattered," he murmured. "Really, I am. But I don't think that's a very good idea given our history. Or almost-history. Whatever you want to call it."

"I suppose you're right," Purdey admitted, picking at the sheet. She wanted Gambit so badly, but she knew that it was really her Gambit that would have been able to chase away her fears by his mere presence. The Commander was only a substitute, and it wasn't fair to use him that way given her resemblance to his wife. "No, of course you're right. I'll leave you to make up the couch."

Gambit smirked. "Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." They looked at each other for a moment, each pondering the strangeness of their positions. But eventually the waters got too deep, and Purdey looked away.

"Goodnight, Commander," she said quietly.

"Goodnight, Purdey."

He left. She turned over and switched off the light, settled into the suddenly very-empty feeling bed, pulled the covers up to her chin.

"Goodnight, Mike," she whispered. "Wherever you are."


	12. At the Ballet

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yes, another chapter. Purdey does a little investigating this time around. Something's most definitely going on. Sadly, it's not quite what Purdey thought, and there's no guarantee solving the mystery will get her home again...

* * *

Purdey awoke early. Gambit's bed was soft and most certainly infinitely more comfortable than the couch, which made for a better sleep. She hadn't had any strange visions the way she had the previous night, either, which no doubt had attributed to her peaceful slumber. There had been no Steed and Gambit keeping vigil by her bedside. She wasn't certain whether that made her feel better or not. On the one hand, it made her seem less insane, less likely to be hallucinating. But…those visions thus far had been her only connection to the real world, and to her Steed and Gambit. The thought of losing contact with them was almost more than she could take. Purdey sat up in the bed and took a deep breath. If Gambit and Steed weren't going to make another appearance, she would have to rely on the doubles occupying this world to help her get back home. The Commander in particular. Steed was less than inclined to help, it seemed, so she would have to rely on her lone ally, even if, she admitted to herself, they were attracted to each other for all the wrong reasons. But she needed _someone_, and she needed to get to work right away. She threw back the covers and climbed out of the bed.

After sleeping in it all night, her dress was creased beyond presentable, and a quick glance in the mirror confirmed it. She needed clothes first and foremost. At the moment, the Commander's wardrobe was the only option that presented itself. Purdey smiled to herself. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

***

Gambit was sitting bolt upright on the couch when she entered the living room. His heart was pounding, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his face and body. His shirt clung damply to his chest. Even from her vantage point in the hall, she could see he was taking in his surroundings in a panic, eyes wide with fear. She lingered a moment longer, uncertain as to whether her presence would be a help or a hindrance, decided to wait and see if he would settle down on his own. Eventually, he wiped a hand over his face and took deep breaths, clearly trying to calm down.

He looked to his right, suddenly aware that he wasn't alone. "Mrs. Doomer?" he called uncertainly, and looked visibly relieved when her blonde head popped round the entry way. She wasn't certain why he was looking quite so worried, but she felt obliged to put him at ease.

"I told you," she chastised cheerfully, pretending she hadn't seen the panic in his eyes a moment earlier. "Just Purdey. I'm not going to be Doomer much longer, anyway." She smiled when he winced at the correction. "No harm done. Now, why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

Gambit looked up from massaging his temples. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"I do have eyes," Purdey replied, her own flashing with sympathy. "And anyone can see you had a bad night."

He shook his head. "Nightmares. Nothing to worry about."

She nodded knowingly. It wouldn't do to push him further when he clearly wasn't interested in sharing. She didn't want to alienate him. "Mike…I mean, my Gambit has them, too." Her mind flashed back to a stormy night, and a shower. She could still feel the cold water pouring down her back as she tried to coax an explanation of out of her colleague. "I don't know what they're about," she went on. "He won't tell me. I assume you're going to be just as stubborn?"

He gave her a weak smile. " 'Fraid so."

She shrugged. "I've learned to live with it." She hadn't, really. On some level it always bothered her that Gambit had never confided in her, but that wasn't the Commander's problem. She walked in to sit on the edge of the couch, and Mike seemed to notice for the first time that she'd lost the dress and apprehended a pair of his slacks and a shirt in its place.

"Nice outfit," he commented. Purdey grinned.

"Just something I threw together, Commander. Hope you don't mind. At least until I pick up some clothes of my own."

"Be my guest. You look better in them than me, anyway."

The grin broadened to a smile. "I thought I'd scare us up something for breakfast. I checked your stores, and I am most certainly not going to dine on cornflakes and cold cuts. Honestly, some things never change. But I need money."

"You've gotten into my trousers. Isn't my wallet in there somewhere?" he quipped.

"Yes, but I thought I'd ask before I took the money."

"How considerate. Help yourself. But I've got a pressing appointment this afternoon, so I can't lounge about forever," he warned.

"Then we'll just have to make the most of the time we have," Purdey replied. "Wait until you try my omelet."

"I can imagine."

He pushed back his blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the couch. Purdey bit her lip and mustered up the courage to ask for his help. Despite his kindness toward her, she knew it wasn't a given he would drop everything in his life so she could conduct her own investigations.

"Commander."

"Hmm?" Gambit was stretching like a cat, all six feet of him unwinding into gradual wakefulness.

"Would you mind doing me a favour?"

Gambit looked surprised but not unwilling. "What sort of favour?"

"I think I should get back to the scene of the crime," Purdey explained, elaborated at Gambit's puzzled expression. "Where I fell, I mean. Off the stage at the ballet. Maybe, if I go back there, I'll figure out how I got here to begin with."

"Sounds logical," Gambit agreed, rolling up the sleeves of the wrinkled shirt in which he'd slept. "You can take my car."

"Car?" Purdey frowned, feeling mildly disappointed. "You're not coming with me?"

"Do you _want _me to come with you?" Gambit looked interested now, blue-green eyes skimming over her with interest, and Purdey felt her cheeks heat.

"Well…if you were along it would feel…right. Normal. More like the way I remembered things being."

"And?" Gambit was enjoying this, a knowing smile playing at his lips.

Purdey felt her blush deepen. "All right. I would appreciate having you along. Larry was convinced I was up to something, and I could use a second brain to put to the problem since mine doesn't always seem to be taking calls."

"And this has nothing to do with last night?" Gambit queried, tongue-in-cheek.

Purdey scowled. "What about last night?"

"What about--? The kiss? You and me? Don't tell me you've forgotten already." He pretended to look offended. "I'm used to my kisses having more of an effect than that. My ego will never recover."

Purdey snorted. "Well, I'm not going to massage it. My Gambit knew better than to expect that, and you'll have to learn to do the same."

Gambit chuckled in spite of himself. "I get the point. All right. Like I said, I _do_ have something I need to do this afternoon. But as long as we're back before one…"

"We will be. It won't take long, I promise," Purdey said eagerly. "What do you say, Commander?"

"I say I'll be ready as soon as I have breakfast," Gambit quipped, tongue-in-cheek, eyebrows waggling merrily.

Purdey grinned. "I'll be back in 20 minutes. That should give you enough time in the shower."

"How do you know how much time I spend--?" But she was gone. He shook his head. "Never mind," he muttered.

***

Purdey had Gambit drive her to the Sadler's Wells theatre. She was glad she'd asked him along—she hadn't been back to the theatre in years. She hadn't had the courage to watch her old troupe perform after she'd been unceremoniously removed on account of her height. She hadn't wanted to risk running into an old colleague, so she'd found herself gravitating toward other dance troupes for her ballet fix. But the vision of the theatre alone was enough to make her palms sweat and her heart beat faster. She remembered moving to the theatre with the troupe in 1970, the same year she had gotten herself engaged to Larry—and then unengaged. She could still remember all the backstage corridors, all the places the floorboards creaked—and how to get in the back entrance. Purdey had Gambit drive around behind the theatre, and guided him inside. In this world she was still a member of the troupe—no one questioned her, or Gambit, on their way in.

The dancers were rehearsing a familiar dance from "Swan Lake" when Purdey and Gambit entered. Purdey hung back, just offstage, so as not to disturb them, and Gambit followed suit. He was very quiet, letting her take the lead. She really didn't have anything she wanted him to do per se. All she really wanted was another pair of eyes and someone to watch her back. With Larry on the prowl, she felt vulnerable. She'd taken care of him once, but something told her she may not be quite so successful the next time around, and that was when back-up would prove handy.

Despite Purdey's attempts at being unobtrusive, she managed to catch the attention of a slim, leggy brunette with a head of thick, curly hair. Susanna, a fellow understudy and anonymous background swan. Purdey hadn't been in contact with her for years, not since she'd fled the country to "find herself" after she had broken up with Larry and lost her job. By the time she returned to England, too much time had passed, and she had no longer felt like the same person. She had joined the Ministry at that point and never looked back. Purdey wondered what had happened to Susanna in her own timeline. Perhaps she should look her up if—when—she got back.

Susanna managed to finish her rehearsal despite casting sideways glances at Purdey throughout the remainder of the dance. The instructor let the troupe break as soon as it was finished, and Susanna wasted no time in hurrying over to Purdey as soon as she was free. Purdey looked to Gambit meaningfully.

"Alone?" he murmured.

"If you don't mind."

"No. Of course not. I'll just, uh…" He gestured at the rows of seats, and Purdey nodded to show she understood. "Take as long as you need."

"Thank you," Purdey said gratefully, and watched him disappear down the stage stairs and into the aisle between the seats, just as Susanna joined her.

"Purdey," she exclaimed, still out of breath from practice. "I thought you weren't going to come in today because of the accident? You should take at least a week with that head."

"It's all right, Susanna," Purdey assured. "I'm not here to dance."

"You're not?" Susanna's forehead creased. "Then why--?"

"I need to find something out. About the accident," Purdey explained. "In fact, I'm glad you're here. I'm afraid I…I don't remember what happened that day. I was hoping you could fill me in."

"What, amnesia?" Susanna wrinkled her nose. "I thought that sort of thing only happened on the telly."

"It's not uncommon to lose the events that immediately preceded a head injury," Purdey replied. Susanna didn't need to know she remembered a different accident in its place. "It's very important that I fill in the gaps. Please. Tell me."

"All right," Susanna agreed with a shrug, dropping down to perch on the edge of the stage, long legs dangling over the edge. Purdey followed suit, let her legs dangle beside her old friend's. Susanna was an inch shorter than Purdey, but she more than made up for it with her extra-long legs. Purdey herself had often envied them. "What do you want to know?"

"What happened the day of the accident? Just tell me how the day went. Don't leave anything out."

Susanna shrugged carelessly, tossing her curly brown hair over her shoulder. "Nothing special. We came in, changed, did some stretches, wrapped our feet."

"That's all?"

"Yeah. Nothing unusual. I mean, you were a bit off, but not any more than you have been the past week or so."

"Off?" Purdey cut in, eyes searching the woman's face. "What do you mean, 'off'?"

"Oh, you know."

"No, I don't," Purdey countered, frustration edging into her voice. "Explain."

"Oooh? Who's tall, dark and broody?" Susanna wanted to know, and Purdey saw her attention had been drawn by Gambit, who was standing in the aisle of the theatre, smoking and trying to look unobtrusive in a room filled with women in leotards. He noticed the pair of women looking his way and saluted cheekily, much to the delight of the brunette, who waved back. Purdey sighed. She'd forgotten about Susanna's notorious eye for men--and matching libido.

"He's my…security," she said carefully. The last thing she needed was Susanna spreading a rumour about her 'affair' with Gambit. "Just a friend."

"Mmm, yes. I'd feel secure with him around," Susanna murmured, letting her eyes trail over Gambit's silhouette. "Good muscles. Lovely. What do you call him?"

"Commander Gambit," Purdey said sharply. She was liking Susanna's covetous expression less and less, and that in itself was bothering her. For his part, Gambit was making no effort to disguise the fact that he was watching them, smoking contentedly. Purdey felt like throttling him.

"Commander?" Susanna arched her eyebrows. "Military man? Very nice. He could command me any time." She cast an eye in Purdey's direction. "But then you've gotten to him first."

"Sue!" Purdey had forgotten that was her nickname for her old dancing friend, but it bubbled out of memory regardless. "Please, I need you to focus. What have I been doing the past few days?"

"Search me. But you've been very secretive. Always distracted and daydreaming, never listening to the instructor. Oh, and you're always writing in your journal. The one you keep in your dressing room drawer," she added when Purdey frowned. "Scribbling away like a madwoman. You were doing it the day you fell. You were _very_ distracted that day. I thought you may have had a fight with Larry."

"Why do you say that?"

"Dunno. You said something to me about him 'not being the man you thought he was.' I thought it sounded like you had a fight. You've been so angry lately, and he's upset that you haven't had a baby." She bit her lip. "Look, I'm sure it's not my business. All I know is you were spacey all day, really worked up. The instructor told you to back up a bit onstage, and you just kept going, pitched backwards and whacked your head on the floor. Hard. Really sickening." She shuddered. "Oh, we were all so worried. You were unconscious even when the ambulance took you away." She squinted at Purdey, searching her face, which had gone chalk white. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Purdey said faintly. "Yes…I'm fine. Sue, that diary, is it still in my drawer?"

"Should be," Susanna said casually. "No one's been into your stuff, and you didn't take it away with you."

"Right. Sue, I'm going to go get it. Does anyone else know about it?"

"Don't think so."

"Can you promise me you won't tell anyone about it?"

"I suppose. Purdey, what's going on?" Susanna looked really worried. "Why are you really with that Commander? Are you in some sort of trouble? Is it Larry?"

Purdey was already scrambling to her feet. "Sue, I promise you, as soon as I know that myself, you'll be the first to know. Just keep this whole conversation to yourself, okay?"

"Okay." Susanna looked unsure. She bit her lip and watched Purdey hurry down the stairs into the aisle, where Gambit was waiting.

"Don't smoke," Purdey told Gambit the instant as soon as he was in earshot. She plucked the cigarette from his mouth and ground it under her heel, more for something to do than anything else. "My Gambit doesn't, and I think you could do worse than to follow his lead just now."

Gambit blew out his last lungful of smoke, regarded her with mild amusement. "Bossy aren't we? You sound just like—" He stopped mid-sentence, and the smile died on his lips.

Purdey frowned. "Like?"

"Like my wife," Gambit murmured quietly, and looked away. "But it's only natural. You're like her every other way." There was an awkward silence, and he broke it gruffly. "Anything interesting from your friend?"

"Um, yes. She says I was distracted the day I fell, and that I seemed to have fallen out with Larry. She also says I have a diary, and that I was writing in it that day."

"A diary?" Gambit looked her way again, the old wounds hidden once more. "Where?"

"In the dressing room. I'm going to retrieve it. I'd like you to watch the door, make sure no one's coming."

Gambit smirked. "Afraid your dancing friends will read about your fantasy crushes?"

"I don't think those are girly secrets in that book," Purdey said ominously. "Something else is going on here. I can feel it. And if I can find out what it is, maybe I can find out why I'm here, and how to get home."

"Right," Gambit agreed, suddenly serious. "Let's go, then."

***

Gambit and Purdey hurried backstage, Purdey leading the way by pure instinct, quietly amazed that she still remembered how to get there after so many years. The rehearsals had started up again, and the corridors were devoid of dancers. Purdey located the dressing room and signaled for Gambit to wait outside.

"If anyone comes by, let me know, or distract them if you can."

Gambit arched an eyebrow. "Distract?"

Purdey put a hand on her hip, smile twitching her lips. "Well, we are in a building occupied almost entirely by women. Don't tell me you lost your touch the instant you were married?"

"The question is, do you want me to do any touching?" Gambit's eyes were dancing now—wickedly.

"So long as you don't get carried away," Purdey said knowingly. "But if you're anything like my Gambit, I think you'll be just fine."

"Your confidence in me is touching."

"Don't let it go to your head. I have enough things to worry about."

"That's putting it mildly," Gambit replied. "I get the picture. Go. Find what you need."

Purdey smiled gratefully and eased the dressing room door open, closing it quietly behind her. She turned and faced the rows of vanities, mirrors, clothes racks; the piles of make-up, wigs, and hair extensions. She bit her lip in thought. If memory served, her vanity, and, in addition, the drawer in which she'd store all her personal belongings, like wrapping tape, was the second from the back. She crossed the room in long strides, found the vanity. There were pictures of herself and Larry plastered all over the mirror. Purdey ignored them and yanked open the drawer. The jumble inside was overwhelming, but not unexpected. Purdey poked through rolls of tape, tubes of lipstick, fake nails, and extra pairs of nylons, digging through the layers. Personal belongings were always buried deep beneath everything else to make them less likely to be found and to fall into the wrong hands. Sure enough, near the bottom she found something that didn't fit in with the usual dancer's paraphernalia.

A box. A half-used box of pills. _The_ Pill.

Purdey held it up in surprise, eyes wide. She certainly hadn't been expecting _that_. She opened the box, looked at how many pills were remaining, did a little math. Considering where they were in the month, less the two days since the accident...it added up. Purdey bit her lip. This didn't make sense at all. She'd found the pregnancy tests in the trash back at the dream house. And there was the nursery, clean and ready to go. Clearly they were trying for a baby. But the pills pointed to a different conclusion. She was trying to _prevent_ a pregnancy. On the sly. Without Larry's knowledge. Meaning she had a reason not to want a baby with Larry. But she didn't want him to know that. Why would she do something like that?

_If I knew something about Larry. Something terrible. And I wanted to get away._

Abuse? No, that didn't make sense. If Larry had been hurting her—and she had more than a small inkling he was--why would she decide to leave now? No, there was something else going on. She could feel it. And she had a feeling that the journal contained the answer. She put the pills to one side and kept searching. There was a book, all right. Red leather, a small 'P' inscribed in the bottom right-hand corner. This looked promising. Purdey set the book on the vanity top and opened it.

There were scribblings, written in her hand, but untidily, as though she were in a hurry. And nothing in the entries was explicitly spelt out. Everything was vague, as though she were trying to ensure that anyone who read it wouldn't be able to get the full picture. But one thing stood out immediately on the page.

MAG.

Purdey remembered the abbreviation on Larry's file. That must have been where she had seen it. So she _had _been snooping through Larry's desk. Often, by the looks of things. Each page was dated, and contained only a modicum of information, as though Purdey had only been able to look through what she assumed must be Larry's files a little bit at a time. And one of the first entries was MAG. It was joined by a second, CMD. And a series of numbers. Purdey didn't recognise them. She moved on. The next page had another abbreviation: JWGBS. There were numbers associated with that one, too. Purdey kept going. Here, a word: "Valiant." There another set of numbers: 30-06-1977. Purdey blinked, looked at the calendar on the wall. June 30, 1977. Today's date. Purdey bit her lip worriedly. She kept flipping through the pages. A time. ETA. A flight arrival time? There. A phone number, and the word "Embassy" scribbled beside it. Purdey was liking this less and less. But what she saw on the back page made her heart stop.

There was large cloud drawn, encompassing the whole page. And in the middle, in block letters, she had written:

BANG!

Purdey snapped the book shut hurriedly. She couldn't decipher these clues here, not alone. She needed to get away and think about this. She had stumbled across something—something big—before the accident. She had tried to tell her father about it. Larry had threatened her over it. It was dangerous. It was major. She could feel it. But she felt vulnerable here. Who could be watching? Who else knew about it? She needed out.

She threw the door open, startling Gambit, who was in the process of lighting another cigarette. He dropped his lighter in the process, looking sheepish.

"Purdey, uh, I was just, uh—"

"Stop babbling. We need to get out of here," Purdey snapped, eyes darting around, seeking a shadowy figure lurking in the corridor.

"Find something, did you?" Gambit inferred, bending to retrieve the lighter and removing the cigarette from between his lips.

"Two things. These—" She held up the half-used packet of pills.

Gambit flushed when he realized what they were, and averted his eyes. "Oh, er, sorry, uh."

"Don't be silly," Purdey hissed in exasperation. She didn't have time to deal with Gambit's embarrassment. "I'm supposed to be trying to get pregnant, you know."

"Er, are you?" Gambit was still looking away. His cheeks had flushed a deep red, and he was nervously fiddling with the unlit cigarette. If Purdey hadn't been so upset she would have found the nervousness endearing. As it was, she was only impatient.

"Yes, and yet I'm taking these on the sly. Odd, isn't it? But that's not all. I found this." She held up the diary, poked Gambit in the arm to get him to look at it. "There's something going on here, Commander, and I knew what it was before the accident."

"I thought you weren't…you…before the accident," Gambit pointed out.

Purdey bit her lip. That had occurred to her. The more wrapped up she got in this world, the weaker her grip on the other one was getting. But she needed to solve this. Maybe it was her key to getting home.

"Look, it doesn't matter," she told Gambit. "I just need to figure this out. Something terrible is going to happen. Something catastrophic."

Gambit looked alarmed now, all embarrassment forgotten. "Like what?"

Purdey put her finger to her lips, shook her head. "Not here. Come on. We need to get back to your flat."


	13. Betrayed

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Poor Purdey. Nothing works out for her, and no one seems trustworthy. Hope you enjoy this next installment more than she does!

* * *

Purdey was quiet on the drive back, constantly looking over her shoulder while Gambit did his best to watch the road and not her. She wasn't certain who she expected to see trailing behind, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She was in deep. The journal told her as much. Maybe it was all linked back to how she had gotten there in the first place. Regardless, she wasn't going to take any chances. She knew Gambit was watching her uncertainly out of the corner of his eye. She couldn't blame him. Amnesia. Conspiracy theories. Alternate universes. Anyone would start looking uneasy. So she wasn't surprised that the instant that they were back inside his flat, his first words were:

"So, what's going on? What did you find in the journal?"

Purdey shrugged off her coat and added it to her scarf she had tossed on the bar. "I'm not entirely certain I should tell you."

Gambit made a face, a cross between disbelief and annoyance. "Pardon?"

Purdey sighed and put her hand on her hip. She'd thought about this a lot on the way home, and it seemed logical now. "Look, Commander, I like you a lot. I really do. But I'm starting to think I've gotten myself into something very, very big, and because I like you so much, I don't know that I want to get you wrapped up in it as well. You're in a respected position, and I can't ask you to jeopardise that."

Gambit gaped at her in disbelief. "What, after all of this—the amnesia, you coming here, going to the theatre—you're going to just cut me dead?"

Purdey held a hand up defensively. "I don't mean anything by it. I'm only thinking of you."

Gambit shook his head. "No, you're thinking of your other Gambit, and how I'm not him. And that you're not my wife, and you don't want me to get all caught up in the similarities and do something stupid. Or maybe you're just uncomfortable because you kissed me. Either way, you're not going to get rid of me that easily. You came here, you need help, and now you're stuck with me. Maybe the only reason we get on is because we remind each other of someone. Maybe it's stupid to stick together. But I really don't care. I think you need a friend, Purdey. I think you need help, and I think you found me for a reason. So I'm not going to let you fob me off that easily." He took a deep breath, as though all the air had been sucked away by the words. "Okay?"

Purdey smiled to herself, secretly glad. She hadn't really wanted to be alone in this world, but she felt selfish making her problems Gambit's as well. "Okay."

"Right." Gambit shrugged off his coat and added it to Purdey's pile. "I'm going to go wash up a little, and then we're going to take a look at that journal. Yes?"

"Yes," Purdey agreed. "All right."

"Good." Gambit winked at her, and headed for the bedroom. Purdey adjusted one of her hair pins in her updo and moved to get the journal out of her coat pocket. It was at that moment that the phone rang. Purdey glanced toward the bedroom, then moved for the phone on the bar and lifted the receiver. Before she could acknowledge that she had answered, however, she heard another voice over the line.

"Gambit."

"Commander? Steed here. I've some news regarding the Emir."

Purdey's heart stopped. She knew that she should hang up the phone and keep out of Gambit's business, but Steed's mention of an Emir made her stay on the line. He couldn't mean _that_ Emir. Could he? There was only one way to find out. She took the phone off the counter and ducked behind the bar, sliding on to the floor.

Steed had Gambit's attention. "What?"

"Dyce. Turns out he didn't have an accident after all. Someone deliberately sabotaged that ladder on the base. And the last name admitted when that happened? Doomer."

Purdey's jaw dropped. Larry? She _knew _that he was involved. It made sense. There were too many things that hadn't felt right. But the next words out of Gambit's mouth made her sit up and pay attention even more. "You think Purdey did it?"

"How many Doomers do you know of?" Steed asked dryly.

"But it couldn't have been," Gambit sputtered. "What about that bastard of a husband of hers? Surely he had more reason to be there than she did. They'd both be Doomer on the sign-in sheet."

"Yes, but this one was signed visitor, meaning it wasn't base personnel." There was a pregnant pause. "And forgive me for prying, but when exactly did it become 'Purdey' and what exactly do you know about her husband?"

"I know he's abusive," Gambit stated flatly. "And that she left him last night."

"And came to you?" Steed asked knowingly.

"She had nowhere else to go."

"I see. And what time did she leave?"

Gambit hesitated. Steed sighed on the other end.

"Don't tell me you slept with her?"

"No!" Gambit replied, outraged, then checked himself. "No. I put her in my bed and l took the couch. Nothing happened."

"And you believed her story about her husband?"

"Of course."

"Commander, I hate to be rude, but are you blind?" Steed exclaimed. "She's obviously trying to seduce you. She likely made the whole thing up, just to worm her way into your affections. And then there's that startling resemblance your wife. I'm sure she's been using that to her full advantage."

"She didn't even know about that until I told her," Gambit defended.

"I'm not willing to believe that, Commander. You've been compromised. I'm coming for you both as soon as I can. We'll have to straighten things out before the this afternoon."

"Major…"

"Good-bye, Commander." And Steed hung up.

Purdey heard Gambit slam the phone down onto the receiver, and mutter a few choice words that only other sailors could hear without blushing. Purdey followed suit in a daze, lowering the receiver into the cradle with a gentle "click." Larry was planning something, and even worse, Steed thought that she was involved somehow. Purdey couldn't understand it. Everything she'd found thus far had pointed to her being an outsider, just as much in the dark as anyone else, desperately trying to piece things together. She still was even now. Who was Dyce? What could she have possibly had to do with him? How did he tie in with the Emir? For And Gambit and Steed? Clearly they were investigating Larry and his connection to the Emir. If that was the case, Larry hadn't gotten over the death of his father without incident in this universe. Had they been investigating her all this time? No, Gambit had sounded genuine on the phone. Steed may have thought her untrustworthy ever since she had gone to see him, but Gambit, seemed convinced of her innocence. He hadn't sounded like he wanted to believe what Steed had said, but now....Purdey bit her lip. Maybe he did doubt her, but she couldn't very well ask him. She didn't want Gambit to know that she'd been listening in—that would only make him suspect her more. But she couldn't not try to defend herself to him. Gambit was her ally—she needed his help, now more than ever with Steed coming over to arrest her, or worse. She was about to come out from behind the bar when she heard a voice from the bedroom. A voice that wasn't Gambit's.

"Just turn round slowly, Commander. I'd rather not kill you if I can help it. Not yet."

Purdey froze. It was Larry's voice. Larry was in the flat. And she didn't like the sounds of what he was saying. Gambit answered.

"Not yet? I'm supposed to ask why, aren't I?"

"Are you?"

"That's generally the way these things work," Gambit went on, voice steady, but Purdey could hear the tension under the words. "You talk, I listen while you lay out your ingenious plan, I make appreciative noises. Corny, but it's worked in the movies for years."

"You're not funny, Commander."

"I'm not laughing. Who the hell are you, anyway? Aren't I supposed to know that, too? Hostage-taking etiquette?"

Purdey rose slowly and peeked over the top of the bar. Larry didn't appear to have an accomplice. That was good for her. And Gambit.

"Oh, you are so much more than a hostage, Commander."

"Bully for me."

Purdey picked up a heavy vase from a side table and weighed it experimentally. It would do—at least capable of stunning Larry long enough to get the gun away. She started to creep toward the bedroom door. Sure enough, there was Larry. Creeping a little closer, Gambit came into view. He was backed up against the wall, arms raised, staring fixedly at Larry. Purdey only hoped that Larry would return the favour until she could get close enough to do some damage.

As she got closer, Gambit noticed Purdey, tried to signal with his eyes alone for her to stay away. Purdey showed him the vase and indicated for him to be quiet, but the game was up. Larry had noticed Gambit's subtle communications, and he backed away from the door, edged around the room so he could turn to Purdey while keeping the gun aimed at Gambit. His eyes widened when he saw who his would-be attacker was.

"Purdey!" His eyes were wide with surprise.

"Hello, Larry." Purdey shifted her vase from one hand to another. "I thought I told you not to follow me."

"I didn't follow you, darling. But if I'd known you'd taken up with a fellow officer, I may have." He cast a derisive glance at Gambit. "I knew you were up to a lot of things, but I didn't expect a lover."

"He's not my lover!" Purdey snapped. "Why do people keep assuming that? And even if he were, you don't have any right to judge me, not after what you did!"

Gambit's eyes were bright with surprise. He looked from one to the other. "Wait, _he's_ your husband?"

"Unfortunately," Purdey confirmed, never taking her eyes off Larry. "What do you want?"

"You," Doomer said simply. "Or I did, but something else has been absorbing my attention of late. I thought I could hang on to both you and the mission, but I couldn't. You got curious, you started snooping around. A few days ago I thought you were going to confront me, but then you fell off that stage, and I thought your head injury had taken care of all of it. But now....well, I don't suppose you'd consider coming back to me?"

Purdey snorted. "Don't hold your breath. Anything else?"

Larry scowled. "I'm disappointed in you, Purdey. I thought we had a life together. I thought you loved me."

"So did I," Purdey snapped. "But that was a long time ago. People change."

"And by change, you mean go for types like the Commander here?" He waved his gun at Gambit.

"I told you, we're not having an affair," Purdey said icily.

"You don't have to sound _so_ displeased with the idea," Gambit grumbled from his corner, looking vaguely sullen, as though his ego had been bruised.

"Well then, if he means nothing to you, then I suppose I can dispose of him," Larry said casually, pulling back the hammer of his gun.

"Don't," Purdey barked, and he smiled.

"Then I want you to put that down," he indicated the vase, "and come in here, very slowly, like a good girl. No tricks. And don't get too close, or your dear Commander Gambit will go on to join his wife."

Gambit's eyes narrowed to very small, very icy slits. "What do you know about Carrie?" he asked menacingly/

Larry smirked. "What _don't _I know is what you should be asking, Commander. But there's no time for that now. Come on, darling. It's best not to keep me waiting. I'm not feeling patient today." He waved his gun at Gambit.

Purdey looked from Gambit to Larry and back again, put the vase down, never taking her eyes off Larry. Gambit shook his head vigorously.

"Run for it, Purdey," he told her. "Get out."

Purdey shook her head. "I can't leave you," she told him. "This is my fault. I can't." Gambit watched helplessly as Purdey walked into the room, hands up, gaze fixed on Doomer. She was halfway into the room, when Larry closed the difference between them, grabbing her arm, and twisting it. Purdey let out a brief yelp of pain.

"How touching—she's more loyal to you than she was to me," Larry snarled through gritted teeth. Purdey glared through the pain, but didn't retaliate. Larry would've shot Gambit before she could do too much damage. "Last chance, darling," he told her. "You can come with me, or stay with him, in which case I'll deal with you both when I've finished up with some other business."

"What sort of business?" Gambit growled, angry that he was helpless to help Purdey as Larry manhandled her. "What have you got your knickers in such a twist about?"

Larry simply smiled. "I think you should ask Purdey that, don't you, darling? But just in case you haven't pieced it all together yet..." He leaned in close. "The Emir," Larry whispered in her ear, but Purdey was having difficulty focusing. The world was fading in and out in sync with the throbbing pain in her arm, and she heard Larry's voice through a haze. "He's a murderer, and he's going to pay. Today."

"You're going to kill him," Purdey breathed, semi-conscious. Lights were exploding behind her eyes, and in the distance she could hear other voices, all vying for her attention. "Again…You're going to try…again."

Larry nodded. "With the help of your friend the Commander," he told her, still too quietly for Gambit to hear. "I'm going to get onto that ship. And when I do, there'll be nothing to stop me. So choose."

"Ship?" Purdey repeated faintly.

"Choose!" Larry barked in her ear, and she snapped back to earth with a start.

"I'm not in the habit of helping murderers," Purdey spat, trying hard to keep her breathing going. Larry snorted.

"I thought as much. You two deserve each other." With that, he flung Purdey across the room, straight into Gambit. Purdey took the impact in her side, and knew instantly that both she and Gambit were going to have a few bruises to show for it. Gambit was helping her regain her balance as Larry tossed them a pair of handcuffs.

"The radiator," he told them, indicating the appliance. "And no tricks, or you'll both be dead."

Gambit crossed his arms defiantly, stepping forward so he shielded Purdey's body with his own, and looked Doomer up and down. So this was Purdey's husband. Purdey could tell he wasn't impressed, and looked as though he was fairly certain he could take the man if it weren't for the small detail of the gun pointed at his midsection.

He snorted. "I can't believe you're married to Purdey. I thought she had better taste." He shook his head. "A sad, desperate man like you."

"You haven't seen anything close to desperate, not yet. And you haven't seen us together at our best. Purdey was very in love with me once upon a time. She would have done anything for me."

"Well, everyone has momentary lapses in judgment," Gambit said with a dangerous glint in his eye. "When she married you, for example. Anyone can see you're too short for her." Larry's face contorted in anger and he stepped in close, his free hand shooting out to hit Gambit hard in the jaw, causing Mike to stumble back into the wall. He wiped the thin trickle of blood away from his mouth ruefully. "And so even-tempered, too. I can't imagine why she left you."

"You don't know anything about my relationship with Purdey," Larry growled, eyes bright with anger.

"I know you tried to slap her around," Gambit said icily, feeling his blood boil even at the words. "That's the only thing I need to know."

"If you don't hurry up, I'll treat you to a repeat performance," Larry snapped, raising the gun menacingly at Purdey. "Cuffs. Now."

***

Larry watched to make sure they were suitably chained up, then left the pair of them while he went to the living room. A ruckus followed, as though Larry were tearing the place apart looking for something. He must have found it or given up, because he returned to them eventually.

"Now," he told the pair, both of whom were fixing him with a steady glare, "I'm going to be gone for a bit. When I get back, I'll decide what to do with you two, particularly you, darling. Maybe you'll learn to appreciate me while I'm gone."

Purdey snorted. "I doubt it," she said icily.

"Then perhaps you had better use the time to make peace with yourselves. You too, Commander. Because I might not be in such a good mood when I get back."

He left them with that happy thought. Purdey sighed. "Ever get that déjà vu feeling?" she asked finally.

Gambit blinked. "What?"

"Well, I remember, I think, our first assignment. And we ended up handcuffed together then, too."

"Sounds like we lead quite the life, the pair of us," Gambit commented, gaze distant, as though he were picturing it. "Never a dull moment. Did I enjoy it?

"We did. Do. We both do." She smiled fondly at the memories which seemed to be fading farther and farther into the realm of dreams. "More than we should have considering the circumstances." She sighed. "It all seems so surreal now. The longer I'm here, the more I start to wonder if I really am mad, if that really was some sort of ultrarealistic dream."

"I can relate," Gambit volunteered ruefully. "Only my realistic dreams are definitely based on fact. Nightmare would be a better word, actually. Somewhere in my mind, I know it's not happening right at that moment, but it doesn't make it any easier."

Purdey watched him swallow hard, saw the sweat bead on his temples. "What happens in the dream?"

"Same thing every time," Gambit said faintly. "Or at least it was. Until last night. It changed a little, for the first time in years." He turned his head to face her. "Do you really want to know what happens?"

Purdey felt a chill run down her spine when she saw how bleak his eyes were, but she nodded anyway. She needed to know.

"All right," Gambit said with a sigh, and Purdey closed her eyes. She could hear the words, but she could also see the images, feel them, hear what he heard, see what he could see.

_Gambit was driving down the street. He could sense a figure in the car beside him, a woman's silhouette, but he didn't dare look at her, not yet. There was a corner coming up. He stopped just short of it, and pondered the consequences of going around it. He'd done this dozens of times, knew what he'd find. He always debated just waiting there, listening to the noise of the traffic and talking to the girl. But he always went, because he had to. Because he had to try and save her. Because he had to see if he could change things._

_So he took a deep breath, and drove into hell._

_He saw a car—the car--coming from the opposite direction, weaving erratically. He might have shouted a warning—he usually did, but he'd been through this exercise so many times it was hard to keep track—but he definitely tried to evade it. Not that it did any good. He never managed to pull out of the way in time. His driving just never seemed to be good enough, his reflexes never fast enough. The other car collided with theirs, the sickening crunch of buckling metal just as he remembered it. And there were the screams, and the running people. And he was looking toward the passenger side of the car, almost drawn to the crumpled mess where his passenger should have been. He threw open his own door, ran around to the other side, wrenched open the crumpled passenger door, and found her, slumped over the dash. He could feel the tears coming to his eyes as he reached out to gently pull her out of the vehicle. But when he'd managed to cradle her in his lap, he noticed something odd. Something…different. Brushing back the blonde hair, he looked into her face. But it wasn't her. Not Carrie, although the resemblance was striking. It was Purdey's face staring up at him, wracked with pain. The large blue eyes bore into his. She reached a hand futilely up to his face._

"_Mike…," she pleaded. "Help."_

Purdey jerked back to consciousness with a jolt, heart pounding, breathing rapid. She felt as though she'd been asleep, in a daze, a trance.

"I replaced her with you," Gambit said quietly. "I've never, ever done that before. Not once. It's always been Carrie. But that was definitely you in the car." He looked back at her, tears in his eyes. "Why would I do that? Why would I replace Carrie? What does that mean?"

Purdey put on a brave smile, laid a hand on his arm. "It means you can make connections. Unconscious ones. We look alike, and we both had an accident—a car accident. At least, I think I did."

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so," Gambit murmured, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes to wipe away his tears. Purdey gave him a moment to compose himself. To be honest, she needed one herself. The images had been so vivid in her own mind. She could feel the pain in her head where it had struck the dash. It was upsetting to say the least.

Time passed. Eventually Gambit shifted uncomfortably, twisting his arm in the cuff. "Are we really going to wait here for Doomer to come back?" Gambit wanted to know.

Purdey shook her head, glad for the change of subject. "No, I'm thinking. I need something to pick the lock."

Gambit regarded her in disbelief. "You can do that?"

Purdey shrugged. "I seem to remember being able to. I certainly remember you doing the same. 'Not even bruise the lock,' you'd say."

"Pity I don't feel that confident now," Gambit muttered.

"You certainly were earlier." The new voice made them both turn for the door. John Steed removed his bowler and regarded them with a critical eye. "Been busy, have we?"

"Doomer," Gambit explained. "He dropped in not long after you rang off."

"I see." Steed looked concerned.

"Mind getting us out?" Gambit suggested. "My wrists are losing circulation."

Steed obliged them with a small tool he produced from within his coat and worked with expert precision. Purdey stood up first, and quickly made her way to the living room with Gambit and Steed in tow. She wanted to make certain her jacket was still there, and the journal within.

"Larry's planning something," she told Steed, searching for the shape of the book and feeling a wash of relief when she found it.

"Something big," Gambit added.

"Important?" Steed put in.

"Definitely," Gambit confirmed. "I didn't hear what it was, but he whispered it to Purdey."

"Did he?" Steed eyed the girl suspiciously. "But what?"

"I think I know," Purdey cut in. "And I think I can prove it. I might need help, though. Access to classified files."

"Top hush?" Gambit asked.

"Very. But it'll be worth it." She extracted the book and held it up for them to see. "I was keeping some sort of journal before the accident. I think it has to do with what Larry was planning."

"Really?" Steed reached out to take the book. "May I see?"

Purdey held it out of reach. "I want your assurance that you won't just take it and leave me hanging. I heard you talking to the Commander. I know you think I'm involved in Larry's plan, but I swear to you I want to stop him just as badly as you do."

Steed's face was unreadable, "You listened in on our phone call?"

"I didn't intend to," Purdey snapped. "I answered first, and then you started talking before I could. You have to believe me—I knew nothing about Dyce. I don't know who he is or what he has to do with what's going on, but you have to believe me. I'm on your side."

Steed's eyes flicked to Gambit, then back to her. "All right," Steed said quietly. "We'll work together. The journal."

Purdey looked to Gambit, who nodded slightly. She still thought he was on her side, so she decided now was the time for a goodwill gesture. She handed the book over. Steed took it firmly, and started to page through it. Purdey started pacing. "We'll have to work quickly," she began.

"Definitely," Gambit agreed. "Whatever Doomer is planning, he's going to do it soon. He was in a hurry. And with the Dyce connection..."

"It's not hard to deduce when he's going to do it," Steed finished, still reading the journal.

"But who is Dyce? How is he connected to the Emir?" Purdey wanted to know.

Steed's head snapped up. "The Emir?"

"Yes. That's who he's going to kill. Larry, I mean."

Gambit and Steed exchanged glances. "The Emir," Steed murmured. "So I was right."

"And Dyce wasn't a coincidence," Gambit chipped in. "Oh, no..."

Purdey listened with half an ear. Yes, this felt right. The old roles. The old rules. The rapport. In-ter-course. And something about a boat.

_Boat. And this time there was a face. A familiar one._

She froze, then turned to Gambit to say something, even though she wasn't sure what. As she did so, Steed's hand came out of his pocket clutching a clear plastic bag with some sort of towel inside it. In one smooth motion, Steed removed it and clamped the towel over Purdey's nose and mouth. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she struggled briefly before her eyes rolled back in her head, and she sank to the floor in a heap. Right before she lost consciousness, her blurred vision seemed to see another Steed and Gambit, standing over her worriedly, before everything went black. Gambit was by her side instantly.

"The hell did you do that for?" Mike demanded angrily, as Steed calmly put the towel back in its bag.

"We still can't trust her, Commander," Steed said firmly. "The whole incident may have been a show for your benefit. If you really want to clear her, you'll help me take her to the Ministry. We can find out how much she knows."

Gambit was already cradling her in his arms. He looked indecisive.

"She's not your wife, Mike," Steed repeated, a little gentler this time. "Please."

"All right," Gambit allowed. "But I'm coming with."

"Fine. Can you manage her?"

Gambit didn't answer, just gathered her into his arms and waited for Steed to open the door. Purdey faded away.


	14. Harsh Reality

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Finally, some answers. But unfortunately, some of them don't quite match up with what Purdey was expecting. Longer chapter this time around. I don't think there will be too many more in this fic. 'Til next time!

* * *

"_Has she said anything? Moved?"_

"_Not yet," came the tired voice. "Not a damn thing."_

_Purdey's eyes flickered, and she had a brief glimpse of Steed and Gambit—the right Steed and Gambit—by a wall, a short distance from her…bed? They looked her way and reacted, eyes wide with surprise._

"_Purdey?" Gambit said tentatively, hopefully. "Purdey, can you hear me?" He started making his way toward her, with Steed in tow. _

"_Purdey, you've been unconscious," Steed was saying, but he sounded farther away, not closer. Purdey's eyes slid closed, and the voices blurred and mixed, then returned, stronger than ever…_

"…been out for a good twenty minutes. How strong was that stuff?"

"Not very. Mild dose. Some process it more quickly than others. But it won't be long before she wakes up. I made certain of that. We can't afford the time."

Purdey groaned quietly, and turned over, but quickly realized she had run out of bed. No, more like cot, she mentally corrected as she caught herself just before going over the edge. She squinted through a curtain of hair at the two figures in the distance, currently locked in a staring contest.

"You shouldn't have drugged her to begin with. It wasn't necessary. She would've come here on her own. She offered as much," the first figure--Gambit, she realized--was saying.

"I couldn't be sure. She may have resisted, caused all sorts of problems," Steed replied.

Gambit shook his head in disbelief. "She can't be involved. She _came_ to me."

"Exactly. She came to _you_, likely with the intention of confirming your position on the ship. You told her you had an appointment for this afternoon. She probably thought she'd be able to tease more information out of you if she had you follow her around. All she had to do was ring Doomer while she was in the dressing room, have him come up to the flat, and put on a little show for your benefit." Steed's brow furrowed in bemusement. "He's her husband. I don't see why it's such a reach for you."

"Because," Gambit exclaimed, frustrated. "It just doesn't feel right. Call it instinct."

"Instinct can fail you," Steed said grimly.

"Just because what's-her-name died because of your foul-up doesn't mean you should discount Purdey!" Gambit retorted. Purdey slid carefully off the bed, shaking her head to clear it. Gambit and Steed were separated from her by a set of bars—a cell. They had locked her in a cell. So much for trusting them. Clearly she'd have to rely on her own resourcefulness to get out and stop Larry. She stood and made her way quietly to the doors.

"Tara," Steed barked. "Her name was Tara. Tara King. And I'd appreciate if you didn't bandy her name about callously."

"I'm not here for Tara, I'm here for Purdey!"

Purdey was at the door by this point, and close enough to take a good look at Steed and Gambit's faces. They were tense, and the way they stood made it look as though they would come to blows at any minute. She'd sensed the same sort of tension between them when she'd first joined the pair of them on an assignment, but even in those early days it hadn't been anything like this. She was glad for the distraction, though. They were too preoccupied to notice her hand delve through the bars and feel the lock. She traced it with a finger. She smiled. They'd have to do better than that if they wanted to keep her locked up. Simple. Perfect. She reached up and pulled a hair pin out of the do she had thrown together that morning. At least the long hair was good for something. A good chunk of it fell loose on one side, making her head lopsided and untidy. She brushed it from her eyes and started to work on the lock.

"You're forgetting yourself, Commander," Steed said calmly, but with that edge of menace that Purdey knew was a sign Gambit was treading on dangerous ground. She almost missed the quiet click of the lock, she was so wrapped up in watching the stand-off. _Master and pupil. Steed got the better of me_. The voice echoed in her mind. And the vision of Gambit, looking sheepish as he said those words, explaining to her how Steed had incapacitated him when he'd confronted the senior agent and accused him of treachery. Steed had only been trying to extract Purdey from a hostage situation, but there was no way for Gambit to know that. But Gambit had come through in the end, rescued them both, even if he had taken a beating, "to earn back his confidence," as Steed had put it. Purdey shook away the confusing memories, and took a deep breath. There was a gun, along with other effects, including her journal, on a table in the centre of the room beyond the cell. She'd have to be quick to reach it before Steed or Gambit did.

She took a deep breath and charged, throwing open the door of the cell with a screech and a clang, a sudden burst of energy propelling her movements. Gambit and Steed wheeled at the sound, but she was already making for the table, diving across it for the gun, then rolling off so the furniture separated them. She pointed the gun their way. They froze, unsure of what to do.

"Don't move," she ordered, eyes darting from one face to the other. "I remember being quite fond of the two of you. I remember so much. I know you don't believe that, but it's the truth. So I'd rather not have to shoot you. But I will, if you push me."

"Mrs. Doomer," Steed said soothingly, "this isn't going to do your husband much good. Or yourself, for that matter. We were getting along so well. Why jeopardise that?"

"Jeopardise what? You think I'm guilty," Purdey pointed out, not bothering to correct the name. "But you're right--we were doing quite well until you decided to put me to sleep."

"I had nothing to do with that. And I don't think you're guilty," Gambit broke in, hands open and placating, urging her to be reasonable.

"I know," Purdey murmured, eyes darting his way and meeting his gaze. "I heard. Thank you."

Steed looked from one to the other in disgust. "Mrs. Doomer, I'd advise you not to do anything rash."

"I'm not," Purdey retorted. "Someone has to save the Emir, and since you seem hellbent on pinning everything on me, I'll have to do it myself."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but aren't you a dancer? Isn't espionage a little outside of your repertoire?" Steed snapped, patience running thin.

"It runs in the family," Purdey quipped. "But you can't have it both ways—either I'm the mad woman with the delusions of grandeur, or the calculating spy working in league with my husband. I can't be both."

Steed seemed to consider that. Purdey decided to press home that advantage.

"Look, I know Larry's planning something—an assassination attempt—but not because I was working with him. I've been investigating this at the same time as you. And I plan on stopping him this time around, with or without your help. But I'll admit things will go much smoother if we're all on the same side."

" 'This time'? He's tried this before?" Steed wanted to know.

Purdey frowned. "I…don't know. Not in this reality, anyway. I've no idea if he went off the rails and I stopped him once already. That's what I remember. But I wouldn't be surprised." She jerked the gun at the book on the table. "Look, most of the clues are in there, I'm certain of it. Have you read it?"

"I've skimmed," Steed admitted. "I was hoping you might be able to elaborate.

"Not at the moment I can't," Purdey said wryly. "Certainly not while I'm trying to keep a gun on you. But I think I may know some place we can go to find out more."

"Yes?"

"Larry's house. My house, I suppose. There are things in that journal...I saw some files on his desk that matched what it said. If we went there, saw what he had, we'd probably have a much better chance of piecing things together. After all, all those journal entries must have come from snooping in those files. I say we go and read them for ourselves."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "All of us?"

"Yes," Purdey said carefully. "I'd rather not have you as an enemy, Steed. I want the team back."

"Does that include me?" Gambit wanted to know, eyes glittering merrily.

Purdey grinned. "If you don't mind."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Gambit was looking more animated all the time.

"How do I know I can trust you, Mrs. Doomer?" Steed asked carefully.

"You don't," Purdey admitted, "but I'm willing to make the first gesture of goodwill." She raised the gun, put the safety on, and set it gently on the table, moved her hands away and showed them her empty palms. "Okay?"

Steed looked to Gambit, sighed at the younger man's pleading expression. "All right," he said reluctantly. "We'll take my car."

***

Purdey opened the front door of the dream house cautiously, peering through the crack, ears open, Steed and Gambit close behind her. She surveyed the front hall, searching for any sign that Larry was here, possibly armed, capable of anything. But there was no sign of anyone. Purdey sighed with relief and opened the door the rest of the way. "He's not here," she told her colleagues. She gestured down the hall. "The office is this way."

"And I don't suppose you waited until he went into hiding before opening the door?" Steed asked suspiciously. "You did linger rather a long time."

"I was looking for him!" Purdey countered.

"And did you see him?"

"No," Purdey snapped, fists clenched. "Look, I am not going to spend all my time justifying myself to you. If you don't believe me, feel free to search the house. I'm going to the office."

"And how do I know you won't destroy them?"

"I'll take Gambit," Purdey told him. She jerked her head down the hall. "Come on, Commander. Let Steed do his search. Perhaps we'll know what's going on by the time you join us."

She turned her back on him and headed down the corridor. Gambit glanced over his shoulder at Steed, shrugged, and followed her.

Purdey was already rifling through Larry's desk when Gambit entered. The files weren't on the desktop, so she started going through the drawers. She ended up back at the locked drawer, tugging it in frustration. Gambit met her eyes as she raised them. His mouth quirked up on one side. He nodded at her updo. "I wouldn't mind actually seeing you work your magic with a lock. I was a bit distracted last time."

"Well, I can't refuse a request," Purdey said with a smile, reaching up and removing a hair pin. "Here goes."

It wasn't a very difficult lock. Purdey worked at it expertly and quickly. She grinned when it clicked, looked up at Gambit in triumph. "Ta-dah!"

Gambit clapped appreciatively. "Beautiful."

Purdey opened the door and reached into the drawer. Sure enough, there were the files. She extracted the folders and set them on the desk. She fanned them out on the surface so Gambit could see. She heard him gasp.

"What?" she wanted to know, glancing from Gambit's face, then down to the files, and back again. "Do you recognise them?"

Gambit swallowed hard. "They're--"

"--Naval files," Steed broke in, standing in the doorway. "Naval Intelligence files."

Purdey looked from Steed to Gambit. "Is that right?'

Gambit looked anxiously at Steed, working his jaw. To his surprise, Steed nodded, giving him his consent to take the girl into confidence. "Yeah," he confirmed. "They're Naval Intelligence. And I think I know what's in them."

Purdey looked down at the files. "You do?"

"Yes," Gambit said with a tremulous sigh. He turned the top file around to face him with his index finger, then flipped it open. His eyes skimmed over the page, and his breathing sped up. "Oh, no."

Purdey turned the file to face her. The first page bore a familiar name—Valiant. HMS Valiant.

"Valiant," she breathed, looking up at Gambit. "That was written in the journal. My journal. Valiant. It's a ship!"

"Oh, yes, it's a ship all right," Gambit said grimly. "The ship where your Emir's going to be at three pm this afternoon."

"The Emir?" Purdey gasped. "A ship? He's on a ship? I don't remember anything about him being on a ship."

Gambit frowned. "What?"

"The Emir. He was at the Houses of Parliament, not on a ship." Purdey looked from Gambit to Steed. "You're sure?"

"I should be. I'm in charge of the security," Gambit said flatly. "He's here for an Anglo-Arabian summit. We thought about doing it in a government building, but it seemed too risky. A ship we can take out into the water, isolate, guard. There's going to be intelligence shared as well. That's where Steed comes in." Gambit nodded at the files. "Clearly Larry's been reading up on it. I don't know how he found out about it, though. We've been very, very careful."

"My father's in the business. Larry's pretty high up in the Air Force. I'm sure he could find a way," Purdey said quietly. She flicked through the file. "He has everything. All the specs for the ship, the schedule for the summit..."

"And the personnel," Gambit said grimly, as Steed moved to look over his shoulder. He pointed to a pair of files, the two Purdey had seen before. "He knows."

"Knows what?" Purdey wanted to know. "What on earth is in--?" She flipped the first file open, the one she had seen before, and saw instantly what he meant. The first item inside was a photo of Gambit. Purdey looked up at him in surprise, and he raised his eyebrows meaningfully. She looked back down at the file, rifled through the rest of it. The whole file was about Gambit—his biography, his naval records, photos, his whole life, laid out for all to see. Purdey flicked the file closed, looked at the label once more, the one she had thought seemed so familiar. MAG. She closed her eyes, felt her head start to ache. MAG. How could she have been so blind?

"MAG," she said under her breath, and Gambit glanced up in bemusement. "Michael Alan Gambit. How could I have been so blind? That was your father's name, wasn't it?"

Gambit looked surprised. "How did you know?"

"Do I really have to tell you?" Purdey asked tiredly. "And this one will be Steed's, I suppose?" She found JWGBS and flipped it open to find Steed's grey eyes staring back at her. "Quel supris. What else do we have?"

"He has a very detailed background on the Emir." Steed was flicking through another file. "And his politics. Doomer must have some very good connections. Only a handful of people know the intel he's using, two of which are Gambit and myself, and I know it's not me..." He looked meaningfully at Gambit.

"I haven't said a word," Gambit muttered through clenched teeth. "Not to her. Not to anyone."

"Is Dyce in on the Emir's visit?" Purdey asked, and Steed's eyes narrowed. "I heard you on the phone, remember. That's all. You wanted to connect him to me, so I assume he must be relevant."

"Look, there's not much point in keeping closed-mouthed about it now, is there?" Gambit snapped. "Doomer's clearly got all the information right here. What do we have to lose by telling her?"

Steed looked from one to the other, sighed. "I don't want her out of my sight," he warned.

"I'm not going anywhere," Purdey promised. "Please. Tell me what's going on, and I may be able to tell you what he's planning."

"Right. The Emir's ship—the Valiant--is docking at 2 this afternoon," Gambit informed. "That's where they're holding the summit. Lots of security, Naval included. I'm heading it—Steed and I have been meeting on it at the stud farm—that abandoned house you took us to--for the better part of a month now." Steed glared at this breach of confidentiality, but Gambit ignored him.

"At the country house," Purdey murmured. "That's why you were so suspicious," she said to Steed. "You thought I'd been listening in on your meetings."

Gambit nodded. "The chap that was in charge before me met with a nasty accident. Steed's kept my identity under wraps because of it. The boys I'm meant to be in charge of know how to ID me, but not who I am."

Purdey blanched. "How? How are they going to know you?"

Gambit blinked, looked to Steed, who still didn't look too happy with the situation, and decided to risk it. "There's a special pass. It's locked up in my flat, in a safe. In the living room."

Purdey groaned. "That's what Larry came for—did you check on it this morning?"

"Not much time," Gambit replied, shrugging. "Busy morning."

Purdey sighed. "Never mind. It'll be gone. That's the reason Larry came—he had no idea I was there. Ironically, _he _probably thinks I'm working for _you_."

Gambit and Steed paled, exchanged worried glances. "Doomer's going to go in as me, isn't he?" Gambit groaned.

Purdey nodded. "He's planned this. You say my name came up on the sign-in when the other man—Dyce—was hurt. Now I didn't do that, but Larry could have easily forged it. Again, he does know my father. Who knows how much he's picked up from him?" She swallowed. "He could have used him to learn about Department procedure.

"He could have used Dyce, too," Gambit said ruefully. "He _was _the chap who was head of security before me, and even before he had an accident, we heard whispers something was dodgy about him. Then he ended up hurt, and we thought maybe we'd got it wrong. And we changed the security procedures, but he'd still have an in. Maybe he and Doomer planned on the accident. Maybe Doomer paid him off for intel and getting out of the way."

Purdey widened her eyes. "He was _counting_ on Steed making the next head of security anonymous. And if Dyce is untrustworthy, he could've figured out who Gambit was easily." She shook her head sadly. "I think I was on the verge of piecing things together before the accident. I found these files on your desk, and Larry tells me I've been snooping around in here." She felt the pieces falling into place. "And now he's on that boat, and no one there knows Mike Gambit from Adam."

Gambit looked to Steed in panic "We have to call in! The Emir's due in an hour."

Steed shook his head. "He'd go to ground the instant we sounded the alarm. If he's as read up on procedure as Mrs. Doomer says he is, he'll know what to look for."

"Either that or take out half the boat along with the Emir," Purdey said darkly. "You don't know what he's capable of. Last time...I remember a missile. And my journal, I wrote 'bang.' What else could he mean to do?"

"A bomb?" Steed suggested. He'd found a piece of paper taped inside the desk above where the drawer was, and he showed it to them. It was a schematic for an explosive device. "Small, but that doesn't mean anything. Probably accessed through military channels. He's quite resourceful, your husband."

"He's not my husband," Purdey snapped. "Not now. Not ever."

Gambit was breathing hard, panic surging through his veins. "He's going to blow up the ship. He'll go in as me and blow up the ship, and if we call in, he might do it whether the Emir is onboard or not. Right?"

"Right," Purdey confirmed. "He thinks the Emir is responsible for his father's death. He'll stop at nothing to get revenge."

"Then we'll have to be just as determined," Steed said firmly. "If this diagram is correct, Doomer's going to plant it in the engine room. He won't do anything until he's certain the Emir's arrived. We still have time. Come on, Commander."

"I'd like to come along, if you don't mind," she told Steed.

Steed frowned. "I'm not certain I need another person to look after."

Gambit grinned. "I'll be happy to take the job," he volunteered. "Besides, Purdey knows the enemy. We can't afford to _not _bring her along."

Steed sighed in defeat. "I hope for you sake that you know how to use a gun."

Purdey gave him a cocky grin. "I _am_ called 'Purdey.'" She moved to follow Steed and Gambit out of the office, when she noticed a black and white 8x10 poking out of Gambit's file. She moved to tuck it back in automatically, but something about it made her pause. She tugged the photo out, slowly, revealing first a pair of shoulders, then a mouth, then a familiar jaw. Big eyes. Purdey felt her heart stop.

The woman in the photo was her. The real her. Late twenties. She was wearing Purdey's customary gold stud earrings, which she'd only noticed that morning had been replaced in this reality with sapphire ones. And she was clad in her pink blouse, the one she'd worn to the target range, the one with the word "Sport" on the back. But most important was the hair. It was cut into a sleek mushroom bob, fringe into the eyes, longer near the back. Purdey ran a hand absently through her current long pin-up. That hair, that was right. That was her. She hadn't imagined it.

Gambit had doubled back, was staring at her from the doorway. "Purdey? What's wrong?" He could tell from her expression that there was something important about the picture, went around so he could look over her shoulder.

Purdey swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. "It's me," she croaked.

Gambit was silent. Purdey thought he didn't understand.

"Me. That's me!" Purdey was getting excited now, jabbing a finger frantically at the photograph. "That's who I am! That's how I look! That's the right me! The real me. I remember looking like that, and here I am. This is proof I'm not mad."

Gambit's face was pale, eyes flicking from her to the picture and back again nervously. Purdey noticed and frowned. "What is it? You should be happy for me. This is the first real concrete proof I've had that I haven't imagined everything."

Gambit took a shaky breath. "Purdey, I hate to tell you this, but that's not you. It can't be."

Purdey's brow furrowed, and she smiled uncertainly. "What do you mean? Of course it's me. Who else would it be?"

Gambit bit his lip. "It's Carrie," he said quietly.

Purdey shook her head. "No. No, you showed me Carrie. She had long hair, down past her shoulders. That's a bob. That's mine."

"She had it cut just before she died," Gambit cut in, and Purdey froze mid-sentence. He continued, a little more quietly. "Only a week or so before. That was the only picture I took of her with that style. I don't like to look at it because it reminds me of…of losing her. Doomer probably found the most recent one he could to fill out the file. But that was Carrie, I promise you."

Purdey gaped at him. "But the earrings..." she murmured, feeling the world tip beneath her.

"I bought her those," Gambit said quietly. "Purdey, that's not you."

"It is," Purdey countered.

"It isn't."

"I'm telling you it is!"

"Purdey, no!" Gambit yelled, and Purdey started in surprise at the outburst. He stepped in close, caught her by the upper arms. "Look, I know you're confused and under a lot of pressure, and I understand that. I really do. But you can't do this. You can't just absorb Carrie's identity. You can't!" His eyes bore into hers, imploring her to understand. "She was the love of my life, and I lost her, and all I have now are the memories and the pictures. You can't come in and take those away from me. You can't! It's not fair." There were tears now, pouring out of his eyes, but he stumbled onward in spite of them. "Carrie was a real person, and you—you've stolen her. You've absorbed her and made her your own. And you can't do that because when I look at you, I want to believe it, too. She's not you and you're not her. Stop pretending you are. It's torture, Purdey. Please, stop."

Tears were streaming down her face. Purdey shook her head in disbelief. "No, no, it can't be true. It can't. No, I don't believe that. I _can't_ believe that." She shook off his arms and turned on her heel, stalked out, out of the office, out into the drawing room with the two bay windows, and the loveseat in the middle. Out into her dream world. "No, no, that's not right," she muttered to herself. "It can't be right. I remember. I remember too much. How can I remember everything—how can that be?" She found herself in the living room, looking at those damn bay windows. "Stop it now! I know this is wrong! It's all wrong. Tell me what you want! Send me home! Send me back, whoever you are! You're wasting your time!" Tears blurred her vision, and she suddenly felt weak, helpless, and her legs gave way beneath her as she sank to the floor. "Please…get me out," she whispered, then felt another burst of anger wash over her. "You've made your point! Now get me out! Get me out of here! Now!" She felt the world spin. "Now! Now! NOW!"

"Purdey!" Gambit was there, on his knees beside her, a hand over her shoulders. "Purdey!"

"No, no, make it stop!" Purdey sobbed. "I want to go home. I want to go back. I'm Purdey. I work for the Ministry. I live just round the street from you. I never married Larry. I didn't."

"Purdey." Gambit pulled her into a tight embrace, stroked her hair. "Purdey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

"It wasn't that," Purdey whispered. "Well, it wasn't only that." She wiped her eyes impatiently. "I _know_ what I remember. I know what I had. I know John Steed and Mike Gambit are out there, somewhere. My Gambit and Steed. I know it."

Gambit's expression was heartbreaking, repentant, worried, but also firm. "Purdey, you have to listen to me. You have to consider the facts. You read those files. You must have. That's where you got your information. About me. About Steed. Names. Dates. Places. Steed's life, and mine, were mapped out there, all ready to be read, digested, memorized, right down to the smallest detail. You could easily have gone in there every day and absorbed a little more, added another touch of realism to an ever-growing fantasy, to the point that anyone, particularly someone who was already a little unstable, could start to mistake facts on a page for some sort of reality, one that existed in your mind alone."

"But I know things that aren't in any file," Purdey said quietly. "I know the smell of your aftershave. I know that you nearly burnt down your school smoking at 13, and they never found you out. I know that your eyelids flicker when you lie, and your eyes turn green when the sun is out in the morning. I know you, Mike Gambit. I do."

Gambit shook his head, fighting back tears. "You know things you created," he clarified. "Can't you see? Don't you understand what I'm telling you? You read those files and found all the background details. But you were upset. You knew what Larry was planning, and he's been hurting you for who knows how long, so you broke down. Too much stress. There's no shame in it. No one can hang on forever."

Purdey shook her head. "No, no…"

Gambit pressed on, trying to push the explanation into her brain, to make her understand. "So you created another life for yourself, and you identified with Carrie. After all, she looks just like you. It's not that much of a stretch. And where there's Carrie, there's me, and you brought Steed in to connect you to the spying. You know all about spying from your father. And you made us your friends, your back-up, the people you could rely on, because you felt like you didn't have anyone to turn to."

"Stop it…"

"And you tweaked our lives to fit it. You never met us, so you had free rein. All that background for me and Steed that doesn't match up with reality? You invented it. And all those assignments, too."

"I couldn't have. I couldn't."

"Purdey, listen to reason. Giant rats? Killer health farms? Hitler resurrected? Remember, you told me all about those on the way to the ballet. That's pulp fantasy, not reality. You made it all up. You must have. And then when you took that blow to the head, it all got mixed up, and with the stress you forgot your real life started to think that the fantasy was reality."

Purdey was really crying now, but she didn't care. Because Gambit was making sense, and she didn't want him to.

"There is no other Steed," Gambit said quietly. "And there's no other Gambit, either. Steed and I are the genuine articles. No one's going to come for you, Purdey. No one's going to take you home. Because you are home."

"No," Purdey sobbed.

"Yes," Gambit said firmly, meeting her eyes. "You have to face facts. You read all those files. You made out that you and I flirted all the time—maybe you were remembering that we were supposed to be 'married,' one way or the other. You eliminated Larry from the picture. It's a fantasy world."

Purdey was shaking. She didn't want to hear this. She didn't want to believe it. But she _did_ believe it. More and more. "And the hallucinations?"

"Like I said, head injury. Who knows what's been shaken loose. You should go back to the doctor. I can take you there."

"No," Purdey said quickly, gripping his arm as tight as she could. "No, I have to come with you. Please. At least let me finish this. If I am mad, at least let me have this one adventure. A real one."

Gambit worked his jaw for a moment, then looked up. Steed had entered, was staring at them in their position on the floor. "We're bringing Purdey," he stated, making a snap decision that surprised both Purdey and, she thought, herself.

"I thought we'd established that," the senior agent reminded.

"Yes, but I find I need a lot of reassurance these days," Purdey said quietly, picking herself up from the floor. "Sorry for the delay. Let's go."


	15. Bang!

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: For Purdey, everything's finally come together in her mind. At least, she thinks it has. If only other things wouldn't keep popping into her head and muddying the waters. And then there's a little matter of a bomb...

* * *

Steed drove the three of them to the docks, but parked a block away from where the ship had actually made berth. He turned to look at Gambit and Purdey, both ensconced in the back seat. Purdey had protested, but Gambit had insisted that he join her after her outburst. Purdey was secretly happy he had—she was feeling more than a little shaky. Gambit's words were starting to sink in. What if this _was_ real? What if she had imagined everything—the Ministry, Steed, Gambit, Larry's death? What did that mean? What would she do now? But no, she couldn't think about that now. What was important was stopping Larry. She focused on Steed instead.

"I'm going in alone," Steed told them. "If I explain who you two are at the door, there's a chance too many people will hear and they'll raise the alarm, and we've agreed Doomer shouldn't know we're onto him."

"How are we going to get on, then?" Purdey wanted to know.

"I'm going to inform those in charge of the situation, and I'll have them let an emergency ladder over the railing of the lowest observation deck. You two will have to commandeer a boat and wait for me. I'll tell you the plan of attack once you're onboard."

"Right," Gambit said with a curt nod. "How much time before we head out?"

"Ten minutes, no more," Steed assured, opening the car door. "I'll see you then."

Purdey nodded, and watched Steed's aristocratic frame depart. Gambit turned to her in his seat.

"You okay?" he asked with concern.

"No," Purdey admitted. "But I'll be even less okay if I don't help you stop Larry. I have to do this. Please don't try to stop me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gambit said reassuringly, leaning forward between the front seats and popping open the glove box. "But all the same I think you should have this." He extracted a small revolver from the box, handed it back to her. "I'd ask if you know how to use it, but I think we've already established that."

Purdey smiled in spite of herself, taking the gun and tucking it into her waistband. "You're not worried about giving the madwoman a firearm?"

"I'm not worried about giving _you_ a firearm," Gambit corrected with a wink, opening the car door. "Shall we commandeer, Purdey?"

Purdey's smile broadened. "Let's."

It didn't take long to find a little row boat. The owner wasn't particularly keen on the idea of his boat being taken out by a young couple with only Gambit's watch as collateral, but Purdey fluttered her eyelashes impressively, and he buckled fairly quickly. Soon they were on the water, Gambit rowing while Purdey let her gaze wander over their surroundings, at the railings where tourists were leaning out over the Thames. She frowned as a wave of déjà vu washed over her. She remembered this place. "I've been here before," she whispered.

Gambit looked up from his rowing, frowned. "What?"

"Steed's party," Purdey went on, not paying him any heed. "He had it on a boat. It was docked here." _Boat_. Purdey saw a flash of blinding light, heard the roar of machines. Her eyes were open but unseeing, and her mind conjured up confused images. And the words came on their own. "On New Year's Eve," she breathed, as though in a daze, and went to Gambit, who was looking a bit worried.

"Purdey…? Can you hear me?"

Two images, two voices, both fighting for dominance in her brain. Could she _see_ her Gambit leaning over her, lying on a bench, with an awe-filled look in his eyes. Or was his brow creased with worry bent over her prone frame as she lay in a hospital bed?

Or was he here, gaze fixed on her from his seat at the opposite end of the boat?

"That was the first time we…." she whispered, and reached out without looking, put a hand on his chest. Whichever one she touched, he felt so solid, so real. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought to regain control of her mind. There was something there, something she wanted to hang on to. "We…It was important," she managed through gritted teeth. "So important. I can't bear to think that I've lost you."

Gambit shook his head. "What? Purdey, you haven't lost me. I've been right here. The whole time." His mouth quirked up a bit, and he switched to an Irish accent. "Lolita. Or should I call you Lo?"

She blanched. Her eyes snapped open. He couldn't know. Not about Terry Walton. Could he? No, she'd made that assignment up. Or, if it happened, it hadn't happened here. And yet… "What did you say?" she asked the man in the boat. She was quivering.

He frowned in incomprehension. "I said shouldn't we go? The ladder's down."

"Is it?" He didn't seem to have any idea what she was talking about. The in-joke she had been so certain of had passed. She felt her heart sink in disappointment as she glanced around her.

Sure enough, the ladder was there, as promised, and Gambit let Purdey climb up first. Steed was waiting at the top, casting the occasional furtive glance over his shoulder. "Right," he began, as Gambit climbed over the side. "The Emir's locked down in the captain's cabin, but that won't do him much good if the whole boat goes up. If we try to move him Doomer might panic and set it off early, so it's essential we find him as soon as possible. We already have a search going on, but we can use every pair of hands we can get, and if you can talk him out of this, Mrs. Doomer, it would be greatly appreciated. I'm going to give you a radio so we can get in touch if you or someone else finds him." He handed Purdey a standard police radio. "If you see Doomer, or find the bomb, let us know immediately. Do not attempt to handle this on your own. I'm already going against my better judgment by letting you be involved at this stage. Do you understand? Call for back-up, keep an eye on him, but do not engage. I want Commander Gambit to accompany you, just in case."

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "For my security, or the Emir's?"

"Both," Steed replied grimly. "I have all the liabilities I can handle at the moment."

Purdey nodded curtly. "I understand."

"He's giving a speech in half an hour," Gambit reminded. "If we delay much longer than that, Doomer will know something's wrong."

"I know. We haven't much time," Steed agreed, checking his watch. "Don't make me sorry I trusted you, Mrs. Doomer."

Purdey smiled lopsidedly. "I won't," she assured. "Come on, Commander."

"Right. We'll be in touch," Gambit promised, moving off in the opposite direction with Purdey. She didn't get far before Gambit caught her arm, looked her in the eye with a sincerity that almost broke her heart.

"Whatever happens here, be careful," he almost pleaded. "I don't think I could see…it…happen again." She could see fear there, the same fear she had seen in his eyes when he'd told her about how Carrie had died.

"I will," she promised, and leaned forward, kissed him impulsively. "Just promise me you'll do the same."

He nodded dazedly, released her. They turned and set off down the corridor.

The ship was huge, and their search wasn't made any easier when every loud noise made them jump nervously. She worked her way up the decks, ever-conscious of the deadline. _Very dead. How many people on this boat? How many would die? Fewer than in the Houses of Parliament, but still._

Purdey tried to shake that thought out of her head. It wouldn't get her anywhere. She glanced around, realized that she had wandered down the corridor ahead of Gambit, who was busy checking one of the dozens of cabins onboard. "Anything?" she asked.

"No," came the frustrated reply, as Gambit closed the door again, and moved to join her. "And we're running out of places to look." He passed a hand over his brow. "If we don't find that bomb…"

"We will," Purdey said quickly. "We have to." She looked around, spotted a very unassuming little door, the word "supply" printed across it in plain block letters. "Look, we haven't tried in here."

"Supply cupboard," Gambit muttered. "Possible." He tried the knob, arched an eyebrow. "And it's locked. Top secret chemicals?"

"Classified mops," Purdey quipped. "We'd better look inside, don't you think? I can pick the lock."

"No time. Let's use the quick method." Gambit tugged the gun out of her waistband, where she'd stashed it, and shot the lock before Purdey could protest. "I don't know if your Gambit ever did that," he muttered, "but it works."

"He had a habit of kicking doors down, actually," Purdey said dazedly, still a little surprised that Gambit would be forward enough to reach into the waist of her trousers. His trousers, she reminded herself. She wasn't exactly one to lecture about being forward. She'd cinched them in tight with a belt, but they were still a little loose. Gambit was on a deadline. She'd wanted a reason to get closer to him, however strange. She cleared her throat. "Well, let's see what you've found." She gave the door a gentle prod, eased it open, Gambit close behind her. The room was dark, and Purdey couldn't find the light switch. She started poking around the darkened shelves, heard Gambit clanking in the corner. After a moment, he went very quiet.

"Purdey…" The voice was calm and steady, but it sounded strange nonetheless.

Purdey heard the worried note in Gambit's voice, wheeled around to find him looking down at a bucket stashed under a shelf. She took a tentative step forward, ears pricked. In the bucket, something was ticking. Softly. Gambit's eyes rose to meet hers in the dark of the closet. They asked the question. The Question.

"Do you know how to…?" he began, nostrils flaring violently.

"No," Purdey said quickly. "I mean, I thought I did. But in this world, this life, the way things have been going, I can't risk defusing a bomb." She nodded at him. "That's why we have the radio."

Gambit unclipped it from his belt, handed her the gun while he tried to key in. It crackled with static. He cursed. "No reception," he muttered. "I'll go out in the hall. Don't let anyone else near that thing."

"Right," Purdey nodded, watching the bomb nervously. There was still a good ten minutes left on the timer, but that still wasn't terribly comforting. She peeked out of the closet to see how Gambit was making out.

He wasn't in the immediate corridor, and she found herself feeling worried. Where was he? Torn between Gambit and the bomb, she ventured out into the corridor, searching for him, tucking the gun back into her waistband as she went. She looked up the hall, spotted his silhouette leaning against the railing of ship, overlooking the sea. He had gone out onto the deck in his search for a signal. She was just about to call out to Gambit when she spotted him. Larry, stepping out on to the deck from the right, creeping around the corner. She ducked back into the closet when he turned her way, waited for his footsteps to turn and start moving in the opposite direction before risking a look. She could see him framed through the corridor, advancing on Gambit. He hadn't heard him, too busy talking on the radio to know he was in danger. She looked down at the gun in her waistband, realized Mike was unarmed. Larry raised the gun to fire.

Purdey didn't wait, didn't think, didn't even remember starting her sprint. All she knew was that she was running. Larry spun at the sound of her footsteps, but didn't have a chance to react before they were suddenly face to face, struggling with the weapon as Gambit spun in surprise, dropping the radio in the process.

"Leave me, Purdey!" Larry snarled, thrashing around, trying to shake her off. The words echoed those she remembered him saying in 1970, in her other life, and the memories came flooding back, blinding her. She could feel the slap against her cheek, the cold brick of the wall she'd fallen against, and the warm tears sliding down her cheeks. It seemed so vivid, so real, too real to be fiction. She couldn't have made it all up. Could she?

Doomer must have noticed her distraction, because he shook free from her grasp, and punched her hard across the jaw. Purdey went flying, her gun coming loose from her waistband and clattering onto the deck as she took the full impact of her fall on her shoulder, felt the sharp stab of pain as it made contact with the deck, heard Gambit's voice cry out her name.

Larry recovered in time to point the gun at Gambit before he could move toward them. "Back up," he barked at the Commander, but Gambit's face was etched with concern, not for his own safety, but for the limp figure sprawled untidily on the ground. He wanted nothing more than to rush to her side, cradle in his arms as he had Carrie, and try to keep her from leaving the world behind much too soon. But getting himself shot wouldn't help Purdey. So he complied, backing up as Larry instructed, the other man following him until Gambit felt the railing dig into his spine.

Meanwhile, Purdey lay on the deck dazedly. Larry's punch had made the world spin. She could see Larry's feet moving steadily away, and then her gaze drifted to the deck railing, and Gambit backed up against it, eyeing Larry warily with that expression of intense concentration she'd come to know so well in that other life, the one that wasn't real, even though she remembered the--

_Boat._

_Railing. Boat. Mike…_

_Falli__ng._

The images flashed past her mind's eye again, the same ones that had been haunting her ever since she had regained consciousness in the hospital. She struggled to make sense of them. Lights, different colours, exploded before her eyes. Where were they coming from?

_The sky._ For the first time, lights illuminated the scene. She was looking up at the sky. No, not only the sky—his face, with the sky in the background.

_Falling again._ No, she was leaning back, lying back, reclining.

_Purdey…_A voice said her name, but quietly, tenderly. She felt herself relax. She felt so safe here, so secure, with him. But there was someone else here, far away, a silhouette. And with it, light. Noise.

_Gambit! Purdey!_

There was a flurry of motion, and she was falling again.

The warmth was gone.

There was a bang.

Gone.

_No…_

Her eyes snapped open just in time to see the hole appear in Gambit's side. She watched, helpless, as he crumpled to the deck…

…_Deck._

Purdey could see the gun, lying a mere foot away. She reached for it, her hand moving with agonising slowness. It was so hard to concentrate. The images still flashed before her eyes, superimposing themselves over the scene, as though projected there with a movie camera. She wanted to see better, but she also wanted to help Gambit. No. She _needed_ to help him. Despite her desire to cling to the fading images, she blinked them away, shook her head, and started the painfully slow process of climbing to her feet. The Boat. She remembered it all now. Or at least, what she thought she remembered. If it was real she had to get back, to tell him she remembered the boat. If it wasn't….well, it didn't matter. She still needed to stop Larry. She still needed to save Gambit. She raised the gun. Gambit and Larry were eyeing each other. Gambit had managed to pull himself upright, clutching the railing with one hand, and pressing the other against his injured side.

Larry was lining up another shot.

"Larry!"

He turned at her shout, never lowering the gun, eyes burning with hatred.

"Larry, don't," Purdey pleaded. "It's not worth it."

"Not worth it?" Larry screamed back. "The Emir killed my father!"

Purdey shook her head. "No. You don't know that. And even if he did, that doesn't make this right. Do you know how many people will die on this ship because of you? If that bomb goes off I'll die. You'll die!"

"I don't care," Larry shot back. "I lost my father, and I've lost you. There isn't anything left to live for."

"There's always something to live for," Purdey yelled back. "Larry, please. Someone will come soon. They'll kill you and stop the bomb. There's no point in killing Gambit. If you spare him, that might reflect well on you."

"I don't have to take orders from you," he snarled. "You traitor. You've been working with them all along, haven't you? Is that why you married me? Because I was seen as a threat? Because you sure as hell weren't there to give me a baby."

Purdey swallowed, tried to shake free the feeling of déjà vu and the implications of Larry's words. Her finger shook on the trigger. She had a choice. Again. And she still didn't relish the opportunity of making it. "I don't want to shoot you, Larry." It was the truth. She hated to admit it, but it was. She couldn't deny who he'd been, what role he'd played in her life.

He laughed bitterly. "As if you could. You may talk tough, but in the end you can't break my back in three places. You're just an addled, unfaithful wife. How did he reel you in, anyway? Did he tell you about his wife? I must admit I was surprised at the resemblance. Nice little fantasy for the pair of you, I'm sure. A whole other life." He shook his head. "You should have stuck with the dancing, darling."

Purdey felt a tear slide down her cheek. "I tried. Heaven knows I tried. It wasn't for me."

But Larry wasn't listening anymore. He was looking at Gambit. The Commander was fading fast, blood seeping through his fingers.

"And as for you," Larry spat at the dying man, "you've been nothing but an annoyance. You've cost me my marriage. Now you pay."

Purdey could feel the tears in her eyes. "Larry, please. If you ever loved me, don't do this."

_Grass. Field. Tears were blinding her, but she could hear the voice, his voice, and Gambit was beside her, looking like his old self. _

"What if it had been me, Purdey? What would you have done?"

He had made the sacrifice. Larry wouldn't.

"Mike…" she whispered. _Why did I expect you to keep coming back when I'm always pushing you away?_ She felt more tears. "Mike," she screamed at him. "I'm sorry."

Against all odds, he winked at her. "It's been worth it," he gasped, and Purdey realized she'd said it out loud, to him, when she'd meant it for that other spectre, now so far away. She turned to look for the other incarnation, her Gambit, the one from the field, but he was nowhere to be found.

Purdey looked back just in time to see Larry raise the gun.

"No!"

There was a shot. A man fell.


	16. Going Home

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Who shot whom? Well, you'll know the answer in a second. I'm thinking one more chapter after this, so things will be wrapped up before Christmas. I'm already working on several other fics, so hopefully I'll have something fresh to post once this is finished. But Purdey's ordeal isn't quite finished...

* * *

Purdey stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Her brain was processing the scene with agonizing slowness. The gun slid for her numb fingers and clattered to the deck. Her gaze was locked on Larry's body, face down and unmoving, a neat bullet hole in his back. She had a brief vision of a field, and Larry's body bordered by billowing smoke.

"_What if it had been me__, __Purdey? What would you have done?"_

"_I don't know. God help me. I don't know."_

Purdey looked down at Larry's slackened features, just visible with his head turned to the side, and felt a catharsis of sorts. She knew now. She had an answer for her Gambit, if he had ever existed. She had made her choice.

She shook the vision away, and sprinted past the dead man to where Commander Gambit had finally collapsed. Dropping to her knees, she managed to maneuver his head into her lap, unbuttoning his collar before checking on the wound in his side. It hadn't hit anything vital, but he was losing a lot of blood.

"Don't worry, Commander," she told him as she took off her scarf and started binding up the wound. "It's not serious. From what I remember, you've been shot lots of times, wounded much worse, and survived."

"Oh, good," Gambit managed through the pain. "In your imaginary world I'm invincible. That's very comforting."

"Don't be like that," Purdey scolded, tying off the wound, but feeling shaken nonetheless. She really _didn't_ know what Gambit was capable of surviving, not if she had imagined it all. She shook away her uncertainty, and tried to smile bravely for Gambit, stroking his face. "Look, I don't think the bullet anything important. You radioed in, someone will be here soon, and you'll be all right."

"Great," Gambit gasped, wincing with pain. "And here I thought your face was going to be the last thing I saw on this earth. Not that I would've minded." He grinned weakly.

"Don't say that," she told him sharply, the thought of losing Gambit, even this one, too much for her. He was the only one she had left.

He frowned. "Sorry," he rasped, before turning his head as much as he could in the direction of Larry's corpse. "And Mr. Doomer, you didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did," she told him, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "Don't fret. You'll need all your strength for other things."

He nodded, knowing not to push further, let his eyes slide closed as security came rushing in, alerted by Gambit's radio message. Purdey suddenly remembered the bomb. In all the excitement, she'd forgotten the real reason they'd come onboard the ship. "The closet!" she shouted to a man, obviously some sort of technician or an engineer, who was sprinting down the corridor toward her. "The bomb's in the closet!" Steed was close behind, and she waved her arms frantically. "Larry's dead," she screamed at him. "The Commander's been shot! We need a medic!"

Steed barked a quick order at a security man, rushed over to Purdey and Gambit. "Someone will be here shortly," he told her, dropping into a crouch beside them. "But right now, Mrs. Doomer, we need you to show us _exactly_ where the bomb is."

"But the Commander," Purdey protested, eyes riveted on Gambit's limp form. "He's lost so much blood, and—"

"And we won't have to worry about that if that bomb goes off," Steed countered, grabbing her arm and dragging her bodily away. Purdey glanced behind her and saw that a doctor and nurse had arrived, and Gambit was being attended to. Satisfied he was in safe hands, she sped up and quickly pointed out the bomb. There were only a few minutes left on the timer, and thankfully the technician made quick work of it. Purdey breathed again as the countdown ceased, and hurried away to watch over Gambit.

An ambulance finally came, and loaded Gambit up. He was more than a little woozy from the blood loss by that point, and the pain medication the doctor pumped into him hadn't made him any more alert. He wouldn't let go of her hand. Purdey suspected that, in his compromised state, he thought she really was his wife, and part of her wanted to play along. But that would have been cruel, for both of them. If he said something not meant for her ears, some intimacy that she longed to have directed at her, it would make things even harder. So she let him go, and went to find Steed.

"The Emir?" she asked the gentleman spy. "Is he all right?"

"Perfectly. His speech will go ahead as planned. We'll take Doomer out quietly. Not many people will know there was an attempt made on his life at all." He cast his gaze landwards, where Gambit's ambulance was disappearing at high speed. "The bomb has been safely defused, and Doomer apparently didn't have any accomplices."

Purdey remembered Kilner and Morgan, the two men Gambit had handcuffed to the steering wheel of their vehicle, but apparently they had never existed in this reality, or at the very least hadn't been involved. "I suppose you'll want me to give a statement," she said quietly, "for the official report?"

"It would be extremely helpful, yes. Especially since you're the only witness to today's events left intact." He paused, regret washing over his features. "Please allow me to extend my condolences regarding your husband. You went above and beyond the call of duty to stop him. No one should have to be widowed by her own hand."

Purdey shook her head. "Don't be. I made my choice. It was the right one. I don't regret it." She blinked. "I don't regret it," she repeated, with dawning realization. "I made my choice. I _know_ what I would have done."

"That's…very important," Steed said carefully, eyeing her up with concern. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," Purdey said with growing enthusiasm. "Yes, I am. Because I know what I'd do. I know who I'd choose. I know who means the most to me."

"Mrs. Doomer, you've had a trying day," Steed told her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "I think you had better give your statement, and then I'll have someone take you home. You can rest. Relax. I'll look after Gambit personally."

Purdey smiled sadly. "But I don't have anything to go home to," she pointed out.

Steed didn't know how to answer that. Purdey shrugged slightly.

"I suppose I'll just have to think of something, won't I?" she said with a tired smile, but she didn't feel that brave. She just wanted to get away.

***

Purdey stared out of the windshield as the Ministry man drove her up the driveway, toward the dreamhouse. It really was perfect, yanked from a guidebook on how to construct the ideal life. The perfect house for the perfect husband and wife and a couple of nauseatingly perfect kids. Only Purdey knew better than to believe the façade. She knew better than to go by appearances. Life had taught her that, at least.

She got out of the car, assured her driver that she would be all right, and made her way to the front door, opened it, and stepped inside. The house felt cold and empty. Purdey hugged herself, looked up at the darkened bay windows. Someone had drawn the curtains, obscuring the sunlight that should have been streaming in from outside. Purdey was left in darkness, both literally and figuratively. She looked around vaguely. This was her life, or it had been. It didn't feel like hers. It was hard enough rebuilding a shattered life without remembering another, better one. Where did she start? What did she do?

Days passed quickly. Purdey lost track of them. Each hour seemed agonizingly long, and yet at the same time felt as if it was over in an instant. She ate, slept, and exercised, but spent much of her time curled up on the loveseat in the dark, drinking tea, trying to sort out what she should do. Eventually staying indoors started to drive her mad, and so one morning she put on her coat and scarf and set out into the house's extensive grounds. She walked out into the field behind the house, just walked, just the way she remembered walking after Gambit had shot Larry in this very field. The farther she walked, the more she remembered Gambit, and the look on his face as he held her screaming form, writhing form. And she heard his words ring in her ears:

"What if it had been me, Purdey? What would you have done?"

"I would have chosen," Purdey whispered to herself, choking back tears, wishing _her_ Gambit were here, now, listening. "I would have chosen you." Her legs buckled as a sudden wave of grief washed over her, and she collapsed in the field, and wept, wept for everything, and everyone, she had lost. Wept for the life she had loved and which she wished she had never taken for granted. She cried and cried until there were no more tears left in her eyes, until she was too empty and exhausted to sob any longer. She lapsed into the quiet, serene silence that follows a good cry, hugged her knees to her chest, and let her mind wander.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she vaguely heard the doorbell ring, back at the house. But it was only when she felt a presence behind her that she looked up and blinked in slight surprise. A slim, familiar silhouette was blocking out the sun. "Commander!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in hospital."

Mike Gambit's mouth quirked up on one side. "I was," he admitted. "They gave me a transfusion, and I sat around for a bit reading out of date magazines, but I—I had to see you." He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, nodded toward the house. "I rang the bell, but you weren't at home. So I came back here…"

"It's all right," she reassured, putting a halt to the veiled apology. "You're not bothering me. Really. I'm glad for the company." She patted the grass beside her. "Please. Sit. If you can." She could see that he was a little lopsided, and the awkward way he held his arm told her his side was tender.

"Thanks." He lowered himself carefully onto the lawn, wincing as his side protested to being forced to bend quite that way. When he'd managed to get reasonably comfortable, he turned back to Purdey. "How have you been?" he began tentatively, after a short silence. "I haven't seen you since…that day."

She seemed to snap out of her daze. "I'm sorry. I meant to visit you, but I needed a little time. And you needed time to recover without me about, making things difficult."

Gambit snorted. "I wouldn't have minded. The nurses they assigned me weren't exactly inspiring." She laughed at that, and a relieved smile spread across his face.

"I can imagine," she replied, smiling back.

Gambit smiled a moment longer, but it soon faded, and he looked away and cleared his throat. "I'm a bit surprised you're willing to see me. Last time we met, well—"

"I'd just finished killing Larry," Purdey finished. "I know. It's not your fault."

"Doesn't feel that way," Gambit said quietly. "It's not right, you killing him to save me. I mean, I know what he was going to do, and that he would have killed anyone who tried to stop him, but still, to kill your own husband, for me…" He shook his head sadly. "I know I should just leave, that's it hugely inappropriate to have anything to do with you. But I needed to know if you were angry, and if I should get out of your life forever." He bit his lip and glanced her way. "You can tell if you are. Be honest. Knowing's better than the limbo I've been in since I woke up in the hospital. I shouldn't really be out, but I couldn't take it anymore, so I got them to discharge me anyway."

"Look, I'm definitely not angry," Purdey repeated, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But I won't deny I've been doing a lot of thinking. And, well, I've come to the conclusion that you're right--I'm stuck here. This is real, and everything else…wasn't."

Gambit frowned. "You mean that other life?"

She nodded. "I've come up with every possible theory. Even after everything that's happened, I still didn't want to believe it. I really thought—I was sure that I was here for a purpose, and if I fulfilled it, maybe I'd go back."

"What sort of purpose?" Gambit wanted to know.

"The assassination," Purdey explained. "I thought I was put here to stop it—again—because I had this special knowledge about what was going to happen. And." She paused, and looked him in the eye. "And I thought I was here to save you."

Gambit looked away. "Is that why you did it, then?" he asked. "Is that why you killed him? Because you wanted to get home?"

"No," Purdey assured. "No, I made a choice. It was the right one. It was what I wanted to do, I promise you that. I wanted to choose you over Larry." Her eyes were intense. "It was only after, when I had a chance to think about it, that I realized that, if there ever was some reason for my being here, I've answered it. And nothing happened."

"What does that mean?" Gambit asked her, quietly.

"That I am mad, I suppose," Purdey said resignedly. "Or that the blow to the head did more damage than I'll ever know. But everything I supposedly knew about you and Steed must have come from those files in Larry's desk. All the biographical details, the initials that seemed so familiar—MAG, that was you, and JWGBS are Steed's very long-winded ones. If I did see them, if Larry was telling the truth, and I was snooping, which I obviously was, my mind could have conjured up any of those assignments I think I remember. I even had the model for my appearance—Carrie, with her short hair, looking just like me. Twist a few details, make up some pretend assignments, and you've got another life." She sighed. "Your explanation fits perfectly, ticks all the boxes."

Gambit shook his head. "No, you shouldn't discount everything just on my say so. What the hell do I know? If it seemed that real, if you were that convinced it was real, maybe there is something to it. Why else would you build something that elaborate? It seems like a bit much, even for someone with a head injury. I mean, a whole other life?"

She shrugged. "I knew what Larry was planning. That's reason enough to start going mad. But he's probably been abusing me for years, pushing me to have a baby. Everyone has her breaking point. So why not make the whole thing up, pretend I'm someone else so I'd feel better about betraying my husband. Create some allies to turn to for help, a history to make me feel as though I could trust them to help me." She smiled sadly. "No, Commander, you were the one making sense all along, not me. The other Mike Gambit is just some figment of my imagination."

"Well, he's a hell of a lot easier to compete with that way," Gambit tried to joke, and Purdey's sad smile brightened a little.

"One thing doesn't make sense, though. There's this memory--" She saw Gambit was looking at her intently, and blushed. "Well, it didn't seem to fit with the others. I'm not sure I didn't make it up, but…" She looked at the face, picked up the scar on his eyebrow, and found she couldn't tell this man, this Gambit, what it was she had seen as she lay on the deck of the ship after Larry had hit her. "Never mind. What are you going to do next? Back to the Navy?"

Gambit shook his head. "I'm leaving. I get an honourable discharge next week. I've decided I can't keep living in the past. All the promotions in the world aren't going to bring Carrie back."

"What will you do instead?" Purdey wanted to know.

"What I planned to do all those years ago—travel without a ship and a crew in tow. Try my hand at a few things. And when I'm finished the Major—I mean, Steed—has offered me a position with his gang. Says he thinks he could find a use for me with the cloak and dagger set, just like, in your, er, 'other life.' And he wants to get back into fieldwork, too. Says this was a taste of what he's been missing. And this time sending you in didn't end in disaster."

"I'm glad for him," Purdey said distantly.

"What about you?" Gambit asked. "What'll you do now? Back to the ballet?"

Purdey looked at her feet. "I don't know if I can," she told him. "It wouldn't be the same. So much has changed. I don't know what to do."

There was a short silence, and then she heard Gambit's voice, hesitant and soft. "You could come with me," he suggested. " some time. Sort things out. I'd love to have you along. Get to know you a bit better."

Purdey could feel tears forming in her eyes, and blinked them away. "I don't think that would be a very good idea, Commander."

He looked defeated. "We could start from the beginning—"

"No, we couldn't," she contradicted. "Because in the end, all you see is your wife, and all I see is _a _man that I care a great deal for, whether he exists or not. We'd be lying to ourselves, and one day we'd wake up, and it wouldn't be working anymore, and we'd end up going our separate way just the same, only it'd be much, much more painful, and I don't think either of us would be the better for it."

She could tell he was holding back tears, and felt her own eyes rebelling against her best attempts to keep the floodgates closed.

"So this is good-bye?" he asked, with a tremor in his voice.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Commander."

"For once," he pleaded, "call me Mike."

"Mike," she allowed, as he drew her into a gentle kiss. "Thank you." She looked at the by-now tear-stained cheeks, and sighed. "I don't seem to be making it easy for you, no matter which reality I'm in. You've both ended up hurt."

"I'll be all right," he told her, clearly with more confidence than he felt. "And just remember—that offer's good for as long as it takes. There'll always be an opening for a good first mate."

Purdey smiled sadly. "I would have thought I'd done enough to alienate you for good."

"I'll come back," he promised, face serious. "Remember that. I always come back."

Purdey nodded slightly. Gambit did. He always did. "I'll remember."

Standing carefully, he allowed himself one last look, savouring her for posterity. "See you, Purdey. I hope you find what you're looking for."

"You too," she replied, and watched as he turned to walk away. He only took a few steps before he turned back.

"Could you do me a favour?" he asked.

"Of course." She was puzzled.

"If you do, by chance, get back to that other life of yours, could you see about putting your Gambit's mind at ease? He's impossible to compete against, but I wouldn't want him to suffer."

Purdey nodded. "I planned on it. I promise, Commander." She waved, and watched until he was out of sight. Then she stood and turned to continue her walk in the grounds. She nearly ran into a broad chest. Looking up, she spotted her father's familiar features.

"Dad!" she yelped, surprised. "Where did you come from?"

"Here and there." He nodded in the direction Gambit had gone. "Who was that young man?"

"Old friend," Purdey told him. "Sort of. Never mind. It's good to see you. What are you doing here?"

Jonathan Bryde shrugged. "I had some time, so I thought I would check in and see if you'd resolved whatever issue it was you couldn't tell me about." He nodded at her lump. "How's the head?"

Purdey rubbed the now greatly reduced bump. "Smaller. But I still don't remember anything from before I fell…" She sighed. "And regarding that 'issue,' well, it was taken care of."

Jonathan frowned at the downtrodden tone. "You don't sound terribly happy about it."

Purdey shook her head. "I'm not. I thought…Look, this may sound stupid, but I thought that this, all of this, wasn't real, and that I needed to do something to go home again. Now I've found that no matter what I do, that's not going to happen. Not one thing I've done has made any difference at all."

Jonathan crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. "Hasn't it?"

Purdey shook her head. "Not really. All that happened was that Emir who visited last week stayed alive, and Larry ended up—"

"Dead?" Jonathan finished, and Purdey's jaw dropped.

"How did you—I didn't tell you that. I haven't told anyone, and it hasn't been released to the papers." She searched for an answer. "You must have heard about it through your own department."

Jonathan shook his head, smiling secretively. "No."

"Then how--?"

"The same way you do. Because you imagined it."

Purdey felt her jaw drop further, if that were possible. She swore it was brushing the ground by now. "What? Dad, what are you talking about? All I imagined was—"

"Another life? A career an agent?" Purdey was so stunned she could do nothing but nod. "I know. You miss it?"

"Yes," Purdey breathed. "But it doesn't matter, because it wasn't real."

"You keep saying that, but you don't really believe it. Not deep down," Jonathan said kindly.

"But what other explanation is there?" Purdey protested.

Jonathan's smile broadened. "Trust your instincts. Your first ones are usually correct. What did you first think when you arrived here?"

"Once I got over the initial shock? I thought that I must be in a coma or something. But—"

"And why is that so hard to believe?"

"Because," Purdey sputtered. "Because I had all the tools to make everything up. Because there's more than a slight chance that I'm mad. Because…because I never got back home. And no one came for me." She felt tears well up in her eyes. "No one."

"That's not true," Jonathan chided, "and you know it. You've seen Gambit and Steed, the Gambit and Steed you know, more than once since you arrived. They're here, with you, as they've always been. You can sense it."

"Then why haven't I gone back?" Purdey countered. "Why would I stay here when all I want is to go back to my life?"

"Because you blame yourself for what happened, Purdey. You feel as though you betrayed Steed and Gambit for Larry, and you are punishing yourself for it. But in the end, it's all for naught. Gambit and Steed don't want you to suffer on their behalf. They understand why you did what you did. This world has served you as a way to work out your own feelings on the issue. Part of you still wonders if you would have been able to prevent all of this if you'd stayed with Larry. You rewrote your past. But you knew it would be terrible. All of it. And you've proven that to yourself."

Purdey shook her head. "Not all of it is terrible. There's you. Why are you here? The one good thing in this whole place, the one part of my life I wish I could bring back?"

"Wish being the operative word. Wishful thinking, Purdey. You wish I were alive. You've allowed yourself one little sliver of happiness here. But I know that you'd much rather trade it in for the life you have."

Purdey took a shaky breath. "It wasn't perfect," she agreed, "but I was in a good place. Finally. I _would_ like it back, pains and all. Except--"

"Yes?"

"I _do_ like having you back. And I've hardly seen you since I've been here. And I'd hate to leave before we spent more time together."

Jonathan shook his head kindly. "You don't need me, Purdey."

More tears. All she did in this damn universe was cry. "I _do_."

"You don't. Not anymore. You have people to look out for you, to love you. I don't expect them to replace me, but while they play different roles in your life, they are no less important. I don't think I could ask for more than for my daughter to find people in her life who make her happy."

"And a job," Purdey chipped in. "Would you have objected to my becoming an agent?"

"I did name you after a gun, Purdey. You know I would've worried after you, but I think you also know I'd be proud to see you carry on my legacy. I think you've always known that."

"But how can you be sure none of this is real," Purdey protested, shoulders slumping. She couldn't get her hopes up, not if she wanted to cling to her last vestiges of sanity. "I can't let you delude me. In the end, I made it all up."

"You don't really believe that, do you Purdey? Especially now that you're coming out of it."

Purdey blinked, looked up. "What?"

Jonathan smiled. "_I_ was your last bit of unfinished business, Purdey. Not the Emir. Me. One last meeting, together, even if it wasn't a marshmallow lunch." She looked away from her father, and noticed the scenery was fading away. She looked to Jonathan for an explanation. He was smiling

"Go home, Colt."

"But dad," she choked. "That means you'll—"

"You'll be all right. You know I was never here."

"I'll still miss you."

"I know."

Purdey hugged him tightly, and closed her eyes.


	17. Wake Up, Make Up

Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, _and _Brazil._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: In the spirit of the holiday season, we have an extra-long, special, deluxe chapter. It also happens to be the last one. If you've been following along since May, thank you. Here's the wrap-up, and I hope you've enjoyed the ride. This fic was old, but I'm glad I went back and spruced it up to post it here. This might be my last post before the New Year, but I have a lot of other fics in the works that I hope to share in 2010, including more stories for the arc. It's not finished, not by a long shot!

Thanks to everyone who's read or reviewed in the past year. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all! Now, enjoy the last stage of Purdey's journey...

* * *

Purdey's eyes snapped open and she sat up with a jolt, nearly causing Gambit, dozing gently in a chair to her right, to lose his balance and topple backward. She took in the sterile, familiar surroundings that constituted every hospital she'd ever known in her relatively short life. Meanwhile, Gambit had managed to right himself and rush over to her bedside. She was staring straight ahead, her attention on the wall, not him. His heart sank. Either she was still angry with him—a sad thought, but better than the alternative—or something was very, very wrong and she was never going to be the same again. "Purdey!" he called urgently, torn between staying by her side and going for help.

_This looks real enough_, she mused inwardly, taking in the foot of the bed. But then again, so did the field she had just abandoned, the one where her father was waiting. Was she really back? Was this reality, and not a figment of a deranged mind? She remembered the first thing she had noticed when she had woken up in that doctor's office, the first concrete sign that had told her something wasn't right. Bringing a hand up slowly in front of her face, she proceeded to run it slowly up over her forehead. Her fingers became entangled in a blonde fringe. Could it be? She kept going, over the crown, down the back of her neck. _Please_, she prayed, _oh please_. Her fingers touched bare skin at the base of her neck. Short hair. She breathed a sigh of relief. "It's gone," she murmured. Then again, as realisation set in. "It's gone!"

Gambit, watching this strange ritual with increasing anxiety, blinked at her first words. "Gone?" he repeated. "What's gone? Purdey, can you hear me?"

She turned at his voice, slowly, carefully. Test number two. Which Gambit was she going to see? She found him and searched his face. He hadn't been sleeping, that much was obvious from the dark circles under his eyes and the drawn, pinched features. He'd been worried about her, she concluded, until she remembered that he had looked that way, only slightly less worse for wear, before she had gone on her 'trip.' If she was indeed back. She hadn't really heard his voice when he spoke, just a noise that made her turn. Then she saw the thick, dark curls.

"Mike!" she exclaimed joyfully, and realised she was feeling awfully giddy. "Mike Gambit, say something!"

Gambit blinked. "Say some—are you feeling all right?"

Her face split into a huge smile. That was _her_ Gambit, the voice not tempered from a lifetime ordering people about. Spontaneously, she put a hand on either side of his face and pulled him into a rather deep, but brief kiss. When she pulled back, she told the dazed features "Don't ever cut your hair."

Following the kiss, she immediately clambered out of her bed, pulling various tubes and wires away from her, and dashing past her dazed colleague out the door. She passed a surprised looking Steed in the hall. "Steed! Back in a moment!" she called, as though she were just popping out for a cup of coffee. He watched her departing back for a moment, then turned his attention back to her room at the sound of running feet. He was just in time to see Gambit rocket out the door, make a turn that was just a bit too sharp, and skid into the wall. Steed went over and hooked the man's arm with his umbrella as he recovered.

"I see Purdey's up and about."

"That's putting it mildly," Gambit muttered, nursing a bruised shoulder. "Which way did she go?"

Steed pointed, and the pair set off down the corridor.

Purdey, meanwhile, having eluded half a dozen security guards, and an inconveniently placed stretcher, had made it to the front door. It had started to rain outside, but that small fact wasn't going to stop her. Pushing open the door, she savoured the feeling of fresh air on her face. It was head and shoulders above anything her mind had been able to conjure up. She stopped on the steps and savoured the feeling of the rain on her skin, and the slight breeze, and the sound of the London traffic in the distance, ignoring the odd looks of people as they moved in and out of the building. In her hospital pajamas, she was obviously a patient, the question being whether or not she was a candidate for mental treatments.

She didn't care. She was back.

Meanwhile, Steed and Gambit had arrived at the door, and were about to make their own exit. Steed noticed the downpour and struggled with his umbrella.

"Won't open," he muttered.

"Figures," Gambit mused, and went out in the rain regardless. Steed followed, and they slowly made their way out to flank Purdey, who didn't seem to have any plans for escape. Her face was turned upwards, toward the sky, drops of rainwater rolling down her cheeks.

"Purdey," Gambit said gently. She turned and gave him a beatific smile. "Are you feeling all right?"

She nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "Fine. Wonderful. Marvelous. Hello, Steed."

"Hello," Steed replied, looking past Purdey to Gambit, but the younger man had no more answers than he.

"Lovely weather," Purdey went on, her words chirped as though by an excitable bird. "Bit wet though."

"Yes," Steed agreed, jerking his head at Gambit, indicating for him to go back inside and fetch someone, but the younger man was stubbornly refusing to go anywhere without Purdey. He jerked his head back. _You go._

In the end, neither of them had the chance. "Still," Purdey went on, throwing an arm around each man's shoulders, effectively thwarting any escape, "lovely all the same." She looked from one man to the other. "Steed!" she blurted out suddenly, causing both men to start in surprise. "Tell me—did you ever meet my father?"

Steed looked from the girl to the younger man in search of some explanation, but Gambit looked as befuddled as Steed felt. Turning his attention back to Purdey, he pondered how to answer her. If she was suffering some sort of amnesia, he would have to be careful of how he approached the question. "No," he began, "I'm afraid I never had the pleasure."

"Because he's dead?" she asked cheerfully.

"Yes, as far as I know," came the careful reply.

"I thought so," Purdey said thoughtfully, nodding sagely, as though someone had told her the secret of the universe, and she was weighing it up. "Mike."

"Eh?" Gambit said faintly. He hadn't been listening to what she'd said, just watching her, looking for any sign that this state was temporary, that she was going to go back to normal. "What?"

"Is Larry dead?" Her face wasn't anguished, just matter-of-fact, sober, as though she were asking about last night's cricket scores, and wasn't going to be too bothered by the result.

Gambit winced anyway. He really didn't want to talk about this now. "Yes, Purdey. He is. I'm sorry."

"Did you shoot him?"

Gambit gaped at her. Was this some sort of cruel joke? Did Purdey really intend on holding that unfortunate day against him for the rest of their lives? Didn't she know how much he hated himself for hurting her, even if he was certain that Larry would've followed through on his threats?

"I had no choice," he said quietly. It was all he could say.

"No, you didn't," she agreed, nodding to herself. "I know that now. But I needed to be certain." She looked at each of them in turn. "Anyway, now that's been cleared up, I think I'd like to go home now."

"All things considered, I think you had better wait," Steed said from her right.

"I'm fine," she protested. "Look, I'm up and about. You're both here. I feel wonderful." She squeezed their shoulders affectionately and the mile-wide smile split her face again.

"You've been unconscious for the past 24 hours," Gambit told her, feeling encouraged by the display of affection. "That scientist you took on didn't just punch you. He had a needle on him, in that ring, and since that was all he had for a weapon, he used it. You got a pretty potent dose of an experimental hallucinogen meant for interrogation."

"More than twice the recommended dose," Steed added. "It put you under. I imagine it wreaked havoc with your subconscious."

Purdey nodded slowly, as though none of this were coming as a surprise. "Can we go back inside, then?" she asked suddenly. "I feel a bit…tired."

Gambit could feel her weight on his shoulders. He put an arm around her for support. "Can you make it back?" he asked, but she was already sagging between them. He looked to Steed. The elder man shook his head.

"I'll call someone."

"No," Mike replied, shifting her against his chest and looping her other arm around his shoulders. "No, I've got her. You go ahead and tell Kendrick what's been happening. Tell him to get ready for her."

Steed nodded, and went in. Gambit scooped Purdey up, and started to carry her back inside. Purdey opened her eyes and looked up at him briefly. "Definitely the real Gambit," she mumbled, and slept.

Dr. Kendrick, who had been brought in from the Ministry's medical division for the sole purpose of tending to Purdey, was waiting when Gambit carried Purdey in. "I think you two had better step outside for a moment," Kendrick instructed Steed and Gambit as a gaggle of nurses entered and proceeded to tend to the patient.

"She was acting rather strangely, Kendrick," Steed told the doctor. "And she's gone to sleep again."

"Euphoria, giddiness, call it what you'd like. Side effect of the drug. But she's awake—at least, out of the coma. The dose must not have been strong enough to keep her under indefinitely." Kendrick let out a long breath. "We were lucky on that front. She'll still sleep a fair bit until it's cleared out of her system, but I think she'll be fine once it's worn off completely."

There was a sudden bout of hysterical laughter.

"Dr. Kendrick," came a nurse's voice.

"Excuse me," he said, moving into the next room.

Steed and Gambit stood in silence for a moment, reflecting on their colleague's behaviour. Steed looked at the younger man, who was deep in thought. Gambit felt Steed's eyes on him, looked up to meet his gaze. "I don't know what that drug did to her, but when I carried her in she was clinging to me like her life depended on it," he confided.

"Perhaps it did," Steed said quietly, and the younger man seemed to consider that possibility.

Gambit looked at the door for a moment, before muttering, almost in disbelief, "Did she say '_don't cut your_ _hair_'?"

***

Purdey awoke slowly, groggily. No, 'awoke,' wasn't the right word. She didn't feel awake, but she didn't feel like she was asleep, either. Somewhere in-between. Either way, she was coherent enough to open her eyes and make out the figure sitting at her bedside, reading a magazine. It only took a moment for her to recognize it as Gambit, the real Gambit, _her_ Gambit. Her second sleep had been deep and dreamless. No alter egos. No men back from the dead. No ballet. Just dark. But it had been a warm dark. Safe. Comforting. Because somehow, she knew she was home.

"Gambit?" she mumbled blearily, and the silhouette snapped to attention, turned her way, and dropped the magazine. He bent over her so she could see him better, face creased with worry. He'd shaved since she'd last saw him, but otherwise he was unchanged.

"Hello, Purdey-girl," he greeted quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Sleepy," Purdey admitted. She was still technically half-asleep, but she was too tired to even tell Gambit that. "How long have I been out?"

"This time? A couple of hours," Gambit told her. "And you'll probably be out again soon, if what Kendrick says is true. That drug did a real job on your system." He bit his lip, looked away, and Purdey could tell he was blinking back tears.

"Mike," she mumbled, struggling to make her eyes focus again. "What? What is it? What happened to me?"

He looked back and tried to smile. "Nothing. It's nothing. Old news. Go back to sleep."

"Mmph." She was too tired to form a response, shook her head. "What?" she pressed.

Gambit's smiled faded, and he took a deep, shaky breath. "Your heart stopped," he told her hoarsely, and when Purdey looked at him, his face was pale.

"What?" she managed. "It couldn't have."

"It did. Look, they said it could overwhelm your brain, cause a brainstorm, but apparently it can overload your heart just as easily. It's that powerful. I was the only one in the room at the time." Gambit's eyes were distant, lost in his own world, his memories. "I called for help, but they were taking too long. So I started CPR."

"Kiss of life," Purdey whispered, with dawning realization. Commander Gambit's kiss. No wonder he hadn't tasted like cigarettes. It had been Gambit himself whose lips she had felt. Her Gambit. Trying to save her. Always trying to save her.

"Yeah," Gambit agreed dazedly. "Kiss of life. And I was so sure you weren't going to make it. I thought…" He swallowed hard, cast his eyes to the floor. "I thought you were going to die. And I wasn't going to be able to save you. And it would have been all my fault."

"Gambit." She reached out as best she could and took his hand, tried to squeeze it with what little strength she possessed. "It had nothing to do with you. And anyway, you got it started again, didn't you?"

"Yeah, just barely, enough so you lasted until the professionals got there. But that was the most terrifying thing I've ever seen in my life, watching you slip away right in front of me. If you hadn't woken up…"

"But I did," Purdey whispered. "I did, Mike. Remember that."

"Yeah," Gambit said, trying to smile away his fears. "Yeah, that's right. But now I think it's time you went back to sleep again. You need your rest."

"I'm not tired," Purdey protested, but her eyelids were already drooping. She barely felt Gambit squeeze her hand back before she was out again.

***

It was three days later when Steed and Gambit finally came to collect Purdey after her hospital discharge. They had kept up their bedside vigil despite Purdey spending most of the time asleep, but Kendrick had shooed them both away so he could give the girl a thorough once-over physical. They still hadn't talked to Purdey properly about what had happened. She remembered the accident, that much was certain, but most conversations were short and Purdey was perpetually groggy. There was no way of knowing how she would be today, even though Kendrick had said she was fit to return home. As a consequence, neither Steed nor Gambit knew what to expect when they knocked on the door of her room, and were told, in a normal voice, to enter. They exchanged a look, and Gambit took the step of actually letting them in.

Purdey was lying propped up on the bed, fully dressed, ankles crossed, with a fashion magazine in one hand, and the other hidden in a rather large bag of marshmallows. Her face lit up with a huge grin when she saw them.

"Come to smuggle me out?" she asked, popping a large blob of gelatin into her mouth.

"Kendrick's decided that you're ready for discharge. With a clean bill of health," Steed explained with a smirk. "So we can forgo leaping out the window."

"Ah, so they don't think I'm mad anymore?" Purdey asked knowingly, swinging her long legs over the edge of the bed, and making her way toward them with bag in hand.

"No one thought—" Gambit began, but she waved him off with the latest issue of _Vogue_.

"Yes, they did. Even though anyone would seem a bit off after a dose of that stuff. What I want to know is what you think?" She fixed them both with a very serious expression. "Do you think I'm mad?"

The two men exchanged a glance, then turned back with a pair of grins that would've made her weep if she wasn't so happy to see them looking the way they should. "No more than you've always been," Gambit said cheekily. Purdey let out the breath she had been holding and returned the grins.

"Then let's get you out before Kendrick changes his mind."

***

"We still haven't had our little talk, you know," Steed pointed out when they were ensconced in Gambit's Range Rover. "I know you've been through a lot, Purdey, but I think it would be best if we had it as soon as you felt fit."

Purdey nodded from her position in the back seat. "I think so too, Steed. As soon as I feel fit." She didn't tell him that she felt fit right now, especially after she saw the way Gambit's shoulders tightened up in the driver's seat. The poor man. There was a lot she wanted to say to him just then, but Steed's presence made it impossible. So despite her yearning to discuss, among other things, a long-overdue apology and a recently resurrected memory with the dark curly head she currently was viewing from her seat, she lapsed into a silence broken only by the crinkling of the marshmallow bag.

***

Purdey spent about an hour puttering around her flat, but she knew she couldn't do anything until she had talked to _him_. But first…She went to her nightstand, picked up Larry's photo. She had only kept the one, throwing out all the others after the break-up. It had been a mistake to even hold onto this one. Because it meant he still had a hold on her. She scowled. _No more_. She tossed it, frame and all, into the dustbin in the kitchen. Then she dug around in the drawer that had been the picture's usual home, finally found what she was looking for, pocketed it, and went to the phone by the couch to dial Gambit's number.

Mike had only just stepped in the door after dropping Steed off at the stud farm when the phone rang. With quick strides he managed to catch it halfway through the third ring. "Gambit," he said automatically.

"Mike?" Purdey's voice. "Listen. Do you remember that place overlooking the Thames? The one Steed had that boat docked for the New Year's party in 1975?"

Gambit frowned. "Yes, but—"

"Meet me there in 15 minutes," she instructed.

"Purdey, what—" he started, but she had already rung off. He stared at the receiver for a moment. That drug. Kendrick had said it could do things to a person. Mentally. If Purdey was suffering side effects… He dropped the receiver back into the cradle and took off out the door, slamming it behind him. He only hoped he could get there before Purdey did herself a damage.

He needn't have worried. Gambit found Purdey leaning casually against a railing overlooking the Thames. She spotted him as he approached, and smiled radiantly.

"That was quick," she commented.

"I was worried," Gambit justified, coming to stand alongside her, putting one hand on the rail. "You have to admit, considering what you've just been through, I have a right to be worried."

"You do," Purdey agreed. "But I'm fine. Really. I needed a witness, that's all."

"Witness?" Gambit was perplexed.

"Witness," she confirmed. "But first things first." She took a step toward him.

"I don't follow," Gambit began, but that was before she laid a hand aside his face. He met her gaze with surprise, his mind reeling. Her own face was blissful, serene even, as those bright blue eyes explored every pore, every contour of his face with such care and attention that he could've watched her forever. Before he knew what he was doing, he had brought his own hand up to cover hers, thumb caressing the back gently. He drew a breath that was best described as tremulous. She was intoxicating.

"Purdey…" he said softly, but she shushed him quiet.

"I thought I was never going to see you again," she told him.

"I was there," he assured her, "the whole time."

She smiled slightly. "Oh, you were. More than you know. You and Steed both. Up here." She tapped her temple. "Though not as I remembered. I'm afraid the other Mike Gambit, charming as he was, was no substitute for the real thing."

Gambit raised an interested eyebrow. "There's another one of me? Running loose in your subconscious?" He looked quite happy with the idea. "Purdey, I didn't know you cared."

She felt her cheeks heat, but pressed on anyway. "It's not quite like that. The drug did a lot of things, manufactured a whole other reality. It seemed quite real at the time." She bit her lip. "But things were wrong, didn't match up. Would you mind too much if I confirmed a few things, just for my own peace of mind?"

"Of course." He didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't the embrace, the feeling of her arms around him, hugging tight. After a moment, he tentatively put his arms around her, afraid she'd take offence if he squeezed any harder.

She held him, and he held her, and for a long time neither spoke. She soaked up every detail, every sensation, from his warm breath stirring her hair to the smell of his aftershave to the curl of the dark hair that she could feel with the hand that had come to rest at the base of his neck, and the small bump on his chest that she knew was the St. Christopher resting beneath his shirt. And he was shaking.

She pulled back so she could look him in the eye, and she saw the fatigue, and the pain, and the worry that had aged him the past week. More than a week, she reminded herself. Eleven days. And she knew that, if left to his own devices, he could possibly become that man she had dreamt up, the one whose life had fallen apart to the point that he was no longer really living. Gambit would be widowed in his own strange way if she had never come back. She remembered the Commander's eyes when she told him she couldn't go with him, how sad they'd been, and yet…still hopeful. He still hoped, one day, she would come back. And she would. She remembered the promise, the one she had made to Gambit in that Ministry corridor before the accident, the one she had repeated in that field just before her father had appeared. The one she had made to him. And herself, really. The realization that she couldn't just stand by and watch him die a little each day, just because she was too angry and hurt to consider what she was doing to him. But she wouldn't know what to do if she woke up one morning and Mike Gambit was gone, faded away to some overseas posting without so much as a word, unwilling to push her until the end.

"About Larry," she began, and Gambit winced as though she had slapped him, pulled his arms away and turned to look out over the water.

"I'm sorry, Purdey," he said, so quietly she had to strain to hear him. "He was going to shoot you, I'm sure of it. And if he had, well--" He sighed. "I'd rather have you alive and angry than walk behind your coffin."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not angry," she told him.

"You're not?" She swore she felt some tension leave the shoulder as he turned hopeful eyes on her. "But you wouldn't even look me in the eye. I thought for sure—"

She shook her head. "I was more angry at myself for still having feelings. For being blinded to the point that I'd delude myself into thinking that Larry wouldn't hurt me." She smiled sadly. "When I knew for a fact that he would, thousands of times over, if it meant getting revenge. And I went ahead and turned against the people I should have been trusting all along. Made a fool of myself."

"You can't blame yourself," Gambit insisted. "It wasn't your fault. You had a past. You can't expect something like that to fade at the drop of a dime. He was an old flame."

"Fiancé, actually," Purdey clarified, and suddenly realized she'd never told Gambit that she had been betrothed, once upon a time.

"Fiancé?" That surprised him. Sometimes it surprised even her. His jaw dropped open, and he gaped at her. "You were…You mean you were all set up to…?"

"Home and hearth and five scruffy children?" she asked knowingly, watched Gambit smirk a little in spite of himself. "I was, if you can picture it. We had a dream house planned, and everything. He used it for the missile site in the end. How's that for irony?"

"What happened?" Gambit asked, before he could stop himself. "I know it's none of my business, but—" He shrugged, looking away as though he were afraid of the answer. "Did you decide you didn't want it after all?"

"Larry decided for me," Purdey said coldly. "And in retrospect I was lucky to be rid of him. I wanted a family so badly after my father died, you see," she explained, not knowing why she was confiding in Gambit, but it felt good to say it after reciting it in her brain hundreds of times. "And it blinded me to all the flaws I didn't want to see. But in retrospect, he was jealous, and possessive, and—" She paused, felt the word on the tip of her tongue.

"What?" Gambit wanted to know, head snapping back to face her. "He was what?"

"Abusive." Purdey felt the word bubble out of her without her consent. "Or at least he might have been, if I'd stayed."

She looked Gambit in the eye for a reaction, and she saw the coldness hardening the handsome features. "What do you mean, 'abusive'?" he asked slowly, menacingly. It was the voice he used when dealing with particularly nasty enemy agents, the quiet, cold tone that meant things were about to get very ugly.

Purdey turned away for the piercing blue-green eyes. So few knew the reason she had left Larry, called off the wedding. She'd told almost everyone that Larry had goals in life, goals she couldn't help him reach. Like murder. Only her mother, her uncle, and her stepfather knew the real reason. She couldn't bring herself to tell anyone else. Not even Steed. But Gambit…

"He was going to kill the Emir," she heard her voice say. "His father was killed overseas. Steed must have told you."

"Yes," Gambit confirmed. "I know all that. Go on."

"I tracked him down, stopped him from getting off a shot. And he was angry. And he—" She heard her voice catch, feeling those long-buried emotions bubble to the surface. "He hit me," she choked. "Just once, right across the left cheek." She put her hand up to it automatically. "Just a slap. And then he stalked off, and I ran, Mike. I ran home. And I never saw him again." She wiped away a tear that had managed to work its way free. "My uncle collected my things from our flat, and I just disappeared. My father had old friends in the business, they helped me. The ballet dropped me not long after. So I left the country for a bit, traveled. Saw these places my father always said he'd take me. Went back to Sorbonne for a bit. Somehow I got it in my head when I was in Peking that I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps. And you can guess the rest."

Gambit still looked murderous. "I can," he muttered. "He _hit _you?"

"Mike, it was a long time ago."

"I don't care," Gambit said with feeling. "If your intention was to make me feel better about shooting him, you've succeeded. Now I'm sorry it was that quick."

"He's not worth it," Purdey insisted. "Gambit, if I can get past it, so should you. Besides, you've seen men slap me around before. I always manage to deal with them myself."

"Yeah, but they never claimed to care about you, either," Gambit pointed out. "They're the enemy. It's not right, but that's the job. He was supposed to take care of you, not—" He must have realized how gruff he sounded, because he stopped, half-smiled, and some of the anger drained out of his features. "Sorry. But you really dodged a bullet on that one."

"I did," Purdey agreed, delving into her pocket. "But I think it's time we put Larry in the past." She opened up her hand, and Gambit looked. A plain gold band was resting in her palm.

"My engagement ring," Purdey explained. "It was only temporary. We were going to go pick out a new one, but we never got a chance."

"What are you going to do with it?" Gambit wanted to know.

Purdey smiled. "I said I wanted a witness," she told him. "Watch closely."

And with those words, she flung the band into the air, where it finally caught up with gravity and hit the river with a 'plop.' Gambit watched it go, treated her with one of those wicked grins.

"Does this mean Middle Earth is saved?" he asked cheekily.

"Oh, hush," she countered, elbowing him gently in the ribs. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the river.

"It explains a lot," Gambit commented finally, and elaborated when Purdey turned her eyes his way. "Doomer. Explains why you turned down that job of Steed's. I knew there was something else behind it, but I didn't know what." He smiled sheepishly. "Even got McKay to send me on some routine surveillance. Nothing like a few hours alone in a car to help you think."

"I knew it," Purdey replied triumphantly. "I knew you had something going on, Mike Gambit."

"I should know better than to try and hide it, eh?" Gambit said with a laugh. "I never seem to succeed on the deception front when it comes to you."

"You're learning," was all Purdey had to say, and the smile came out of hiding again. They were quiet again.

"There's something else," Purdey said eventually. "While I was under, I found something—something I lost."

Gambit's brow furrowed. "Lost?"

"Yes. A memory. You remember the doppelganger assignment? Praetor, plastic surgery?"

"Lolita," Gambit added. "Of course. Hard to forget, especially Lolita's comments about me to 'Terry.'"

Purdey blushed a little, but pressed on. "You tested me, before either of us had gone undercover. You asked me if I remembered something, and I told you I didn't. Because I didn't. Until now."

Gambit paled slightly. She couldn't mean… "The boat?" he said softly. "You remember the boat?"

Purdey nodded, and Gambit looked away, over the river. _The_ river. "I thought you were just trying to dodge the issue by not acknowledging it. Because. Because…" His voice trembled slightly.

"Because we got so close?" Purdey finished. "Maybe too close, considering how little we knew about one another?"

Gambit nodded, and looked back to her. "I never dreamed you honestly didn't remember." He shook his head. "I guess because it's so clear for me."

"I think I blocked it out," Purdey said quietly. "The champagne didn't help, and I had quite a bit more than you, or than you thought anyway. I started early. But—" She sighed. "It made it easier, I suppose. Because I'd let my guard down—we both did. And I didn't want to make things harder, when we worked together."

"Won't it do the same now?" Gambit pointed out.

Purdey shook her head. "No," she told him. "Because we've come too far. Because that was my one source of comfort in that dreamworld. Because it let me know you were there for me after all."

Gambit smiled a little at that. "I always am. You should know that by now."

"But Larry—he pushed you away. _I_ pushed you away."

"I would've come. I'd have gone mad otherwise," he assured. "But do you really remember?"

Purdey nodded. "Perfectly. The stars out on the deck."

"The other boat making waves, and we rocked a bit," Gambit put in. "And you losing your balance on those ridiculous shoes of yours."

"I was tipsy on top of it all," Purdey pointed out. "Good thing you caught me."

"No sea legs," Gambit said, eyes distant with memory. "That's what I said."

"Before you carried me over to that bench," Purdey whispered. And remembered.

_And the countdown had begun. The year was almost upon them. Purdey looked to Gambit and grinned broadly—a little too broadly. Gambit grinned back at her._

"_The ball's about to drop," she told him. "Care to do the honours?"_

"_Definitely."_

_Five. Gambit moved closer._

_Four. He slid an arm around her waist._

_Three. She already had her arms around his neck._

_Two. One last look into her eyes._

_One. He kissed her_

_The fireworks went off, but Gambit barely noticed. He was too busy with fireworks of his own. Purdey was running a hand through his hair, pulling him into her as she leaned back on the bench. Down, down, down. Until they parted and she was looking up at him as he hovered above her. "Purdey," he said softly, and brushed some of the blonde hair from her eyes. _

"_Mike," she replied, and parted her lips in anticipation of his lips coming down to meet hers._

"_Gambit! Purdey!"_

_Steed's voice caused Gambit to start so suddenly, he fell off both the bench and her. _So much for balance, _Purdey thought to herself. She sat up quickly and they both squinted at Steed's form silhouetted in the doorway. _

"_I was wondering where you'd gotten to," Steed commented as he made his way out onto the deck. Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances. How much had he seen? They were like two teenagers caught in the back seat. Purdey couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, no doubt helped by the healthy dose of champagne she'd consumed at the party. Gambit, still sprawled on the deck, couldn't help but join in. Steed raised an eyebrow as the hysterical giggles consumed his colleagues. "Are you two all right?" he asked._

"_Fine," Gambit managed, as he and Purdey climbed unsteadily to their feet._

"_Really," Purdey added, as they made their way toward him. Steed sighed. They were most certainly tipsy, and the stress of the last few days was likely catching up to them. _

"_I think you're ready to go home," he surmised, taking and elbow of each and guiding them down the gangplank to his car._

"_What about the party?" Gambit wanted to know._

"_It'll still be there after I've taken you home," Steed told them, loading both into the back of his Jaguar. _

Purdey and Gambit looked at each other for a long moment in silence.

"It was a near thing," Gambit said finally.

"Very," Purdey agreed. "Do you ever wonder, I mean, about what would've happened if Steed hadn't…?"

"Interrupted?" Gambit supplied. Purdey nodded. "All the time. There were cabins onboard. It wouldn't have been too difficult. All would've depended on what you did."

"You never push, do you? Even slightly sloshed," Purdey said thoughtfully.

"No," Gambit agreed. "Where's the fun in that? I actually want the girl to reciprocate." He paused, as though debating his next phrase, finally came out with it. "What would _you_ have done?"

Purdey shook her head. "I don't know. I think—well, there was a strong possibility I would've made one of these days happen right then and there." She looked Gambit in the eye. "Would you have liked that?"

Gambit looked at her seriously. "Maybe at the time," he allowed. "But now, looking back, no. I don't think I would have. It could've put an end to our partnership before it started, before other things could start. Although I'll admit I was already feeling something. But it could've been a disaster. Easily." He reached out and covered her hand, resting on the railing, with his. "And I wouldn't give up what we have for the world, Purdey-girl."

Purdey smiled slightly. "What _do_ we have?"

"Haven't the foggiest. Let me know when you figure it out." She laughed. "But seriously, you're worth the wait."

"How do you know I won't keep you waiting?" Purdey wanted to know.

"I don't," he admitted. "But there's always hope. And in the meantime, I'm enjoying things as they are. Especially now that we're back on track." He frowned. "We are, aren't we?" he asked with concern.

Purdey just put her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. She felt his arms encircle her after a moment. "We are," she confirmed, and pulled away a little. "As long as you don't have your heart set on that overseas posting."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "How?" Then recognition dawned. "Ah, Steed."

"Steed," she confirmed.

"He's meddling a lot lately. We should get him a hobby."

"Maybe," Purdey said thoughtfully. "Maybe not. And maybe, just maybe, you won't have so long to wait after all."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "You mean…?" She just smiled. "Well, there're lots of boats out here. We could pick up where we left off."

She shook her head. "One of these days, Mike Gambit, but not just yet." He looked mildly disappointed, but shrugged it off. "You can take me for lunch, though. I haven't had a proper meal outside hospital sludge in ages. And besides, I don't feel like being alone at the moment."

"Pleasure. You know I'm always happy to oblige."

"I do." She smiled.

"I know a great little pub down this end."

"Lovely." She took the offered arm, and as they made their way back to the cars, Gambit noticed she was humming.

"What's that?" he queried.

Purdey stopped. "Oh. I was just thinking. That dream—I was thinking, the whole thing was like being on a different planet. And then 'Life on Mars?' popped into my head. Do you know it?"

Gambit grinned. "Know it? David Bowie, '73? I'd just gotten back to England when that was out."

"Really?"

He nodded. "I'll tell you about it over lunch."

"Good boy." Purdey hugged his arm. He'd come for her. She was home.

End

Author's Notes: This one's a combination of a lot of fic ideas. The idea of Avengers waking up to different lives—lives that could have been, if things had gone differently—was an old one from way back when I started writing. I also had another fic in the works that was meant to be alternate reality. It was set in 1970, and involved Steed, Gambit, and Tara (with Emma on the sidelines) trying to suss out who had made an assassination attempt on the Emir. Obviously, Larry came under suspicion, and when he went on the run, his lovely fiancée, Purdey, was left behind and taken into custody, while Gambit found himself feeling a little less than professional concern for the woman he was meant to be keeping an eye on. Plus, once I got writing, it made sense to connect it "Obsession," so that's where it sits in the story arc. Obviously, I saw "Life on Mars," and everything sort of came together. The story isn't a crossover, since Sam and Gene aren't in it, and Purdey doesn't even take a trip back in time (although I considered it). Purdey's hallucinations and "Get me out of here!" are all based on Sam, and so is the repressed memory—Sam had one of those, too, and he kept seeing more and more pieces as he went on. I thought Gambit's boat from "Faces" would fit the bill, particularly since I'd had ideas about that scenario and was working them into other things. Gambit looks so thoughtful after Purdey denies any knowledge—he doesn't know if she just doesn't want to discuss it, or if she's a double and doesn't know. I made it a third option—she wasn't a "teeny bit tipsy," like Gambit assumed. As for the rest of Purdey's world, well, the unconscious gets to surface. Steed's reaction to Tara and Gambit's to Carrie are probably her own guesses as to what will happen if she doesn't fight. And the fact that she resembles Mrs. Gambit…wishful thinking. I did briefly consider letting her have a fling with Mike, since she's convinced he's either not real or not her Gambit, but I left it out.

Obscure in-joke alert: Carrie was the name of the girl Gareth was dating while he was doing TNA.


End file.
